


You Feel Like Coming Home

by Squeevening



Series: You Feel Like Coming Home [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, All of my Humanity, Bad Spanglish, Bigotry & Prejudice, Difficult Topics, Egregious Amounts of Explicit Sex, Extremely Graphic Cooking, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Military Experiences, NOT SNEAKY SABRIEL THOUGH, Overly Emotional Sex, PTSD, Past Sexual Assault, Sexual Harassment, Slowest Burn, Sometimes Characters Say Things Author Does Not Agree With, Untagged Sam romance, discussion of domestic abuse, discussion of suicide, hella angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2019-10-27 07:40:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 85
Words: 289,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17762633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeevening/pseuds/Squeevening
Summary: This is an AU set in the San Francisco area in 2002, just after the dot com bubble burst.Castiel Novak was doing just fine on his own. Recently returned from military service overseas, sure, nothing really holds his interest like it used to, but he tries to pick up his old life where he left off, writing software at the struggling startup company he left a year ago - that is, until his firm hires a hotshot new salesman named Dean Winchester who starts selling for the record - just not the software they actually have. Dean starts inventing software features left and right and brings down a world of misery on Castiel's shoulders until he just can't take it anymore.





	1. Meet The New Hire

**Author's Note:**

> *** Original notes before I got whiny about comments :-D ***
> 
> Many hands helped make this better than it would have been & they have been thanked copiously in the end credits.  
> I am dedicating this work to Renee, who has been *in it* with me for so long, and whose encouragement and willingness to FEEL EVERYTHING WITH ME have been such a gift to me and helped make this so much better.  
> I am not going to laundry list a checklist of squicks or kinks, I am FAR too in love with this story to spoil you like that.  
> You have my word I will never break your heart without healing it afterwards, better than new.  
> I wrote this for myself, but I will share it with you.  
> There is LIFE in here, love and loss and pain and healing.  
> There are difficult topics, because life is difficult.  
> I spared you graphic details when I could, but when it comes to the humanity, I held nothing back.  
> May you feel what I felt.
> 
> *Supernatural Flappy Wings Noise.*  
> It's time.  
> Good luck.
> 
> ********* Whiny notes about comments ********
> 
> I am now on publishing hiatus to work on book two.  
> This work *conservatively* took me fifteen hundred hours to complete.  
> I was not remunerated in any way. I wrote this for love, but I *published it* for COMMENTS. :-D  
> If I make you feel *anything* please drop me a comment, anytime, on any chapter.  
> My *very favorite thing* is when a reader takes me along on their journey and I get breathless comments, in real-time, as they consume this story I breathed to life with only these two hands and this brain and heart.
> 
> If you cannot comment you are of course still welcome to read this, those who DO comment carry your weight in my petulant, needy heart. But if you DO comment you fuel me to write - and especially to *share* - book two, so if you find that you WANT book two, seriously.  
> Drop me a line, ;-)

Castiel glared at the email subject line “Please Welcome our New Hire.”  In this economy they were hiring someone new? After how hard he had to fight to get his old job back at a pay cut _and_ only by offering to accept part of his salary in stock options?  This place was running on a quarter of the staff they had when he left and everyone was working overtime to keep the startup afloat…  he angrily clicked in.

  


 

> _We are pleased to welcome Dean Winchester to our corporate sales team!_
> 
>  
> 
> _We are aware everyone has been giving one hundred and fifty percent and we appreciate all your hard work. Leadership is sensitive to the fact that growing our workforce in these uncertain times is a risk, but Dean brings a wealth of industry knowledge and experience to the table.  We're confident that Dean will position FindATable dot com for rapid growth in the near future._
> 
>  
> 
> _If you see Dean in the halls, please be sure to make him feel welcome!_

  


There was a head shot of the new hire attached. Oh. OH. Mystery solved. The guy looked like a model. Striking green eyes, full lips, cheekbones to die for, perfect hair, and that smile. Christ, he could probably sell condoms at a convent.  Castiel rolled his eyes. If he were fifteen years younger and still innocent he would have been inexorably drawn to that face, beat his wings against that flame until he burned alive, falling to join the inevitable drifts of other moth corpses in their waxy shrouds at the foot of that candle.  Ah well. He sighed and deleted the email just as his Team Lead Anna popped her head into his cubicle.

 

“Don’t forget the meeting at eleven o’clock Castiel. We’re going to be welcoming the new hire. Behave.”

 

Castiel sighed and nodded. ”Don’t I always?”

 

“You give off a vibe sometimes, Cas. Be friendly.”

 

Castiel ran a hand through his unruly dark hair, smoothed his features into less of a scowl. “You got it boss.”

 

“I am not your boss. But yes, good, thank you.” Anna retorted, and was gone.

 

Castiel liked Anna. She was kind, she always had a smile for everyone, and the words she spoke, as far as he could tell, seemed to match her body language. The awkward years of Castiel’s early adolescence when he had first understood he lacked intuition in that area most people seemed to come by easily were at least twenty years behind him, and he was observant and analytical. He had unraveled the small mystery of communicating with other humans just fine - how they spoke with their mouths and their bodies, and how to respond in kind - it was just the desire to do so he found himself lacking of late.

 

Castiel buried himself in debugging a booking glitch that had been reported in the company’s main site until Anna rapped on his cubicle on her way by, at which point he stood up and stretched, adjusted his tie, and pulled his suit coat back on before heading to the conference room. FindATable dot com had relaxed their dress code for everyone but the sales team since the burst of the dot com bubble had emptied most of the building, but he found that dressing well meant people had a much harder time categorizing him and tended to take his opinion more seriously, so he had chosen not to relax his own.

 

The conference room was already about half full when Castiel arrived. The table was moved to the side and several dozen extra chairs had been brought in, arranged roughly in rows facing the whiteboard instead of around the table as usual. It looked like everyone was invited. Oh Joy, this would take at minimum two hours then, and that meant Castiel was not going to be able to pop over to the deli next door for lunch because the girl that made his sandwiches exactly the way he liked left at one thirty and the teenager that came in at two never got it right and he simply could not abide pickles and -

 

Castiel relaxed as a pizza guy came in with a stack of pizza boxes and paper plates and napkins and arranged them on the conference table. Alright, that would do. He hadn’t been looking forward to the stretch until he got home at seven or eight tonight - after his forty mile commute from Mountain View, California, where FindATable dot com still huddled with a gaggle of other surviving dot coms, to his Lower Haight neighborhood in San Francisco - on an empty stomach.

 

The chairs emptied as employees eagerly got up to grab paper plates and pizza. Castiel wondered when was the last time the company had sprung for lunch. He had only been back to work a few months and the lavish Friday lunches he remembered fondly from before the downsizing were certainly a thing of the past.

 

Folks settled down with their bounty.  Castiel selected a couple slices of pepperoni pizza and stacked them on several thicknesses of paper plates. He grabbed a wad of napkins and made his way over to sit between Anna and Ash in the last row. Let the salesforce take front and center; Castiel preferred to observe quietly.

 

Ash grinned at him around a mouthful of pizza and waggled his eyebrows at his plate, piled four slices high. Castiel cracked a smile despite himself. Ash was a character in a class all his own. Some kind of a prodigy, he was an MIT dropout but he was also a damn genius at writing code. He was a bit sloppy, but still a genius, and Castiel didn’t mind cleaning up after him and commenting his code for the bouts of brilliance Ash brought to the table. FindATable dot com had made a wise move not to have let Ash go, and Castiel had been relieved to see him still on the software team. Ash had also taken to the relaxed dress code with great relish, perhaps more relish than had been anticipated by management. His new mullet was a thing of beauty, for some measure of beauty.

 

Castiel smirked at Ash’s neon green flip-flops, then turned to the front of the room as Zachariah and Dean Winchester entered. Zachariah, well over six feet tall, gray-haired, and dressed in his customary suit and tie, looked far less imposing than usual walking beside the strikingly attractive tall young man modeling a dark suit and tie beside him. Zachariah had a hand on Dean’s back, guiding him gently to the front of the rows of chairs as the room fell silent.

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Zachariah opened, “I know this has been a rough stretch. I know how hard you’ve all been working and believe me it is appreciated. The usual meeting agenda is suspended for today for this special announcement.  I know you all saw the email this morning, but what it didn’t mention was that we gave Dean here a probationary trial run before hiring him and in a matter of two weeks -- “ he clapped Dean on the back approvingly “-- he landed us six new restaurant clients, including one we’ve been unable to convince for over two years. I’m sure you will all make him very welcome.”

 

There was a somewhat shocked silence, followed by a low whistle and then laughter and enthusiastic cheering as the ice broke. Dean Winchester surveyed the room with an easy grin, modestly waving his hand for the applause to simmer down, but basking in the approval all the same.

 

“It’s no big deal,” he offered, his voice deep and pleasant. “I’m just glad to be on the team.”

 

Dean accepted a paper plate with a slice of pizza on it from an eager woman on the sales team and the room returned to a maelstrom of conversation.

 

It _was_ a big deal. Castiel knew that even their best salespeople had been lucky to sign one new client in a month. San Francisco area restaurants had been closing left and right in the wake of the dot com bubble bursting and keeping their existing clients on board had taken most of their efforts for some time now. There just weren't as many hungry people looking to book a restaurant table as there had been two years ago and restaurants were harder to convince they needed the service. Six new clients to add to their database was going to mean a hell of a lot of work for his team but also maybe a turnaround for their slump. Maybe he’d get paid in actual dollars again someday.

 

Castiel studied Dean Winchester carefully as he charmed his way around the room, glad-handing and greeting new coworkers with that easy smile that reached all the way to his eyes. Castiel could see that the picture hadn’t done him justice, and further, that no still image ever would. He was beautiful in the photograph, but it hadn’t been able to capture the grace with which his features moved, or the charisma that radiated from his warm smile; the ripples he left in his wake. People would fall over themselves to do anything to please a man like that, Castiel mused, carefully keeping his face neutral.  No wonder he was in sales. He had probably never wanted for anything in his life and cared for other people only as far as what they could do for him. Castiel knew the type well.

 

He turned to leave the meeting to get back to his cubicle, but Anna elbowed him in the ribs and he sighed, busted, and made his way over to where Dean was smiling down at several women from the sales team, arranged around him like so many groupies. It was embarrassing, really.

 

Castiel found himself staring at Dean’s face, studying the curve of his cheeks, the way his eyelashes caught the light. Anna touched Dean’s sleeve and Castiel heard Anna say “Dean, I’d like to introduce you to Castiel Novak, one of our best programmers and a good friend of mine. Castiel, Dean Winchester.” Castiel had a moment to wonder how Anna already knew Dean on a first-name basis, and then Dean was turning his benevolent gaze away from the groupies to focus his full attention on Castiel’s face, and Castiel found himself being studied in return.  

 

Castiel grasped Dean’s outstretched hand firmly in his own and found it warm and dry, his palm tingling at the contact. Dean smiled and Castiel begrudgingly quirked a slight smile in return, warily watching Dean watch him. There was far more intelligence in those eyes than he had anticipated, not just the shrewd cunning of a fox. He was being observed just as keenly as he was observing, which was startling, but there was something else there he hadn’t expected. Pain. It was subtle, he wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t known what to look for; but this kid - god he couldn’t be more than what, twenty-five? Alright, man then - this man had not had everything in life handed to him. Castiel softened just a little and let his half-smile reach his eyes.  Dean nodded almost imperceptibly and squeezed his hand slightly before graciously offering “I am pleased to meet you, Castiel.”

 

“The pleasure is mine, Dean” Castiel parried smoothly, and he shook Dean’s hand gravely before releasing it. Tentative détente reached, they pretended not to watch each other as Anna fussed, making small talk and making sure to introduce Ash and the rest of the programmers to Dean before the meeting broke up and everyone went back to their desks.

 

Castiel returned to his workstation to help tackle the giant pile of data entry freshly released to his team after the reveal of six new clients, vaguely cursing the downsizing of all the data entry people, but mostly intrigued by the puzzle of Dean Winchester, a much more complex riddle than he had surmised from dismissing that pretty head shot several hours before.


	2. Take a Chance on Me

Dean gently pushed the door to his new office closed. It shut with a satisfying click, and he slumped against it for a moment to let out a sigh of relief. So far so good. He carefully took off the straightjacket and hung it on the hook on the back of the door.  He was gonna need to bring in a clothes hanger for that, ugh. 

 

Dean made it over to his new desk to collapse into the comfortable swivel chair. He’d had his pick from the empty offices, it was kind of sad. He rubbed his eyes and stared at his new computer monitor blearily. Fuuuuck. Alright. He was in, the paperwork was signed, and the health insurance they needed for Sam’s first quarter at Stanford was on track to come through in time for September. Sam was going to need to be re-immunized, no way they were taking any chances on faking any medical stuff and they had no records. Sam’s school stuff had to be as close to legit they could get.

 

God the last five weeks had sucked. He’d never worked so hard in his life. He and Sam had arrived with plenty of lead time for them to find a place and find Dean a job. They’d come armed with the sum total of their savings plus help from Dad’s oldest friend, ‘Uncle’ Bobby, ready to get Sam started at the name-brand college his nerdtastic ways had not only gotten him accepted into, but also scored him a full tuition scholarship for. They’d breezed through forging a religious exemption to the extortionary meal plan requirement, they’d used up every favor Bobby could pull in to find someone who knew someone who could get them a nearly impossible exemption to the on-campus freshman housing requirement, but somehow in all their frantic planning they hadn’t remembered the health insurance requirement. They didn’t have enough saved to pay the additional fee the school charged if they didn’t have their own plan and still eat. At nineteen Sam was technically no longer a minor, but Dean had been his legal guardian since the day he turned eighteen to keep his little brother out of the foster care system, and that meant as a college student Sam could be on Dean’s health insurance. You know, once he had any.

 

Dean rubbed at his temples and worried. They had a place locked down early, in the cheapest neighborhood in East San José they could make work with the commute to Sam’s new school, and Sam’s puppy dog eyes and Dean’s natural charm - not to mention his facility with sweet-talking law enforcement - had swiftly made them fast friends with their new neighbors. Considering where they had inadvertently set themselves down that was a very good thing. Dean wasn’t used to sticking around anywhere for long. Despite the last several years staying with uncle Bobby so Sam could finish High School, everywhere he went still had that temporary feeling from Dad taking them on the road most of his childhood.  Staying in a new city for four years was going to take some getting used to, especially the part where he had to stay on good terms with everyone around him, but he could do this for Sammy. 

 

Dean was good at people; people he could handle. The economy out here just hadn’t entered into his calculations. Working for uncle Bobby had been steady, he was good with his hands and people always needed their cars repaired no matter what was happening on Wall Street. What he hadn’t counted on was needing to find a job that had a family health care plan attached, that had been grueling. It was a stroke of luck he had struck up a conversation with a pretty redhead in a bar in Sam’s new college town one night, poring over the local classified ads with a beer and a grim expression on his face.  She had heard him sigh, looked up from her laptop and cocktail. Smiled at him and asked how he was doing, and she had  _ meant _ it. Taken off guard, he had been honest.

 

“Not great. I need a job that has health care and it’s rough out there.”

 

“Aww man, that sucks,” Anna had replied, “My place has health care from day one, but we haven’t hired anyone new since we had to downsize so many people when the bubble popped. Are you in sales?”

 

“Yes.” Dean had answered without hesitation. “Yes I am.”

 

“Well,” Anna had said slowly, eyeing him appraisingly, “I bet you’re fantastic at it. Let me ask my boss, see if he’ll give you a trial run or something. We could use some sales.”

 

Dean had smiled at her then, a real smile, and she had smiled back. She shut her laptop, and he put down his newspaper.  They traded names and bought each other a drink, chatted amicably about other things, and when she suggested that they take the opportunity to get to know each other a little better tonight because if he were hired they would have to keep it strictly professional, she was  _ extremely _ convincing. He didn’t regret it exactly… Anna was a skilled and enthusiastic lover and he had enjoyed a  _ very _ pleasant evening with her, not to mention scored a personal best if his mental tally on Anna’s enjoyment was accurate - he grinned at the recollection - it was just that he hadn’t expected her to make good on her word and actually give him her card, take his contact info, get back to him with a real actual offer to spend a couple weeks giving FindATable dot com his best effort and could he send over a resume please.

 

Now he was doing his level damnedest not to make it weird. Anna seemed fine, but it was still a little weird. But Holy Shit that had been a scramble - Sam had done some really spectacular work on the fake resume and setting up fake business sites and emails, phone numbers that went to mostly Bobby and also some of his friends back home - and he hadn’t done so much cramming since ever. Getting a handle on the lingo was bad enough, add in researching everything he could about FindATable dot com, running through their site a hundred times, and getting his hands on a wardrobe of suits in time for the next Monday, and Sonuvabitch that had been one hell of a struggle. 

 

But all of that was nothing compared to the actual two-week trial to land the actual job. Anna hadn’t been kidding, sales were difficult in this economy. He had been forced to weaponize charm in order to sell a damn thing. He felt dirty just thinking about how thick he’d had to lay it on.  At his core Dean just... liked people. Some more than others of course, but in general he was good at people. He liked them, they could sense it, and when he was on his own - not doing Dad’s bidding - it had tended to naturally smooth interactions in everyday life for him. That and having his face didn’t hurt. But with the obvious exception of when he was flirting with intent, the most he was usually trying to get out of anyone these days was maybe extra bacon on his burger or a parking ticket forgiven, a perfectly fair trade for a wink and a smile. Even working for Dad when he was younger, he hadn’t schmoozed this hard for this long  _ ever _ .  Schmoozing professionally was  _ exhausting _ .

 

But all of this was temporary, to get Sam through school. He was going to get Sam through school. This wasn’t even about promising Dad he’d always take care of Sam - and hadn’t that been foreshadowing he didn’t want to think about - this was just his responsibility. Sam was his family and Sam’s giant brain was going to support them both on easy street - slightly easier street anyway - when he was a fancypants lawyer.  Until then Dean would do whatever he had to to keep them afloat. Even if that meant - he shuddered a little involuntarily - flirting professionally. But that was just one of the bases that needed covering, this con was extensive. A very long game.

 

So. He had Zachariah and the rest of the higher-ups in the palm of his hand with the sales he’d managed so far, that front was covered as long as he could keep it up. Dean smirked to himself, no problem keeping it up, ever. Alright, next obstacle.  He knew from Dad’s endless lectures that the bosses were always only half the battle. To float a con he had to win over the people on the ground, and here that meant his new coworkers. He’d recently had Anna in the palm of his hand as well - he snickered to himself, god he was punchy - anyway she got him hired so she had every reason to see him succeed. The sales team would be tricky to manage long-term without them getting bitter or jealous but he’d made a great start on that today at the meeting. Spread a few softened leads around now and then and they’d love him.  The software team seemed manageable as well. 

 

Except… except for Castiel. What kind of a name was Castiel? Why was he wearing a perfectly tailored suit when everyone else on the software team was dressed in jeans and tee-shirts, in one case even lime-green flip-flops and a mullet?  What kind of computer nerd was so athletic and tan and had such perfectly sculpted bed hair? How much time did he spend on that hair anyway? 

 

Dean shook his head and turned their interaction over in his mind. He’d noticed Castiel the moment he walked in. Amongst all the welcoming smiles he could feel someone watching him - he had a sixth sense for being watched borne of many years of living in dodgy places with Dad - and he had immediately, discreetly of course, searched out the source of the scrutiny so intense he could feel it prickling on the back of his neck. Castiel had watched him intently the whole time he worked the room with an inscrutable look on his face - not welcoming like the others, not frowning exactly, but… reading him. Measuring him.  

 

Of everyone Dean had met today Castiel alone seemed immune to his smile, which was a rough break, because he seemed smart and suspicious and that was going to be a problem.  Castiel’s hand had been warm and dry, his grip firm, and Dean’s palm tingled at the remembered contact. Dean wasn’t sure what had passed between them exactly, but he understood that Castiel had seen something in his face - he had no idea what - and had slightly relented his judgement.  Offered him a chance. He needed to not blow that chance, no matter what. He needed to stick this landing.

 

Dean ran his hands absently through his carefully gelled hair, took a deep breath, and opened his work email.


	3. At Odds

The next week Castiel barely saw Dean in passing, but he certainly thought about him plenty, and none too kindly. Castiel had the pleasure of not only working non-stop to do routine data-entry work that was well below his pay grade - the endless, mind-numbing entry of each restaurant’s location and hours and marketing copy and available tables or booths or bar seating, not to mention their entire menus from top to bottom and whether they could do vegan or gluten free versions of any of those items, into forms he was meant to be  _ creating _ , not  _ using _ \- he also had the joy of discovering that Dean had not only sold the product they currently offered, he had gone ahead and sold a number of features they did not, in fact, offer. Castiel triaged as best he could by working on adding new features in the earlier part of the day while he was as fresh as possible under the circumstances, and doing data entry in the late afternoons and evenings. He’d take a break to drive home and eat takeout he’d pick up on the way, and then do more data entry from his couch until he collapsed, half the time not even making it up to his bed.

The entire software team missed their usual Thursday night after-work beer and pool night at the nearby bar because they were working through it, but Anna brought a couple six-packs over from the deli next door and they let Ash deejay the office while they all furiously filled out form after form of data for the new clients.  The sorry festivities did very little to lift Castiel’s foul mood, but he made a largely successful effort not to snap at his coworkers as all of their patience ran thin.

 

Castiel worked all weekend from home, barely sleeping in an effort to finish his part of the tasks at hand. By Monday morning he was beyond exhausted, but he had a decent handle on the new features and was ready to roll them out for beta testing to the rest of the team. Castiel dragged himself into the office Monday morning with bags under his eyes and a four o’clock headache already starting.   He hung up his suit jacket, scowled at his unpressed work shirt, and slumped into his swivel chair, defeated. He hadn’t had a chance to go for a run all weekend or the energy to do anything else to relieve his stress and on top of that he was running on a week of short sleep. He was interrupted in vaguely wishing ill upon Dean Winchester by Anna poking her head into his cubicle.

 

“Software team meeting, we need to strategize.”

 

“Good God, What did he do now?”

 

Anna looked exhausted. Her eyes were bloodshot and she had dark circles under her eyes, but she smiled at Castiel and shook her head. 

 

“Castiel, Dean is a very… generous man, and he is getting his feet under him. I need you to cut him some slack. For me, if you can’t find any other way.”  

 

Castiel stared at her, baffled, until Anna’s smile turned wicked.

 

“Oh, Anna, you didn’t!” 

 

“I gave him my own trial run before I let Zachariah at him, yes, but that was before he worked here. Now we’re cool professionals, of course. But  _ very _ generous, Castiel. Be nice to him. He is a haaaard worker.”

 

Castiel made a disgusted face and Anna laughed out loud. 

 

“Shush, he’s a beautiful specimen of manhood. You should be so lucky. Come to think of it I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you look at him, I’d almost think you noticed.”

 

Castiel shrugged. “Analyzing the adversary, I’d say.”

 

“Cut it out. We need the sales and we’ll whip him into shape. Come on, he landed two more last week. We have to assess the damage.”

 

“Oh, Jesus,” Castiel groaned, heaving himself out of his chair to follow Anna to the break room where the software team preferred to huddle, trying very hard not to picture Dean entwined with Anna but entirely failing. Huh, not gay then. Not that it mattered to Castiel, but Dean was so  _ very _ good-looking, and fit, and had just moved to San Francisco... Castiel had definitely made an assumption. He updated his mental dossier on Dean with the new detail and headed straight for the coffee machine.

 

The damage, as it turned out, was extensive. Not nearly as bad as that first hit with six new accounts all at once, but still. The software team huddled around the contract paperwork copies, comparing notes and divvying up the work. There were so few of them now as compared to just a few years ago when Castiel and his team had first written most of the libraries their code base relied on. Anna volunteered to do the bulk of the data entry on this set, seeing as she was fastest at it and the most detail oriented among them for rote work like that, no one argued with her. From the cross-stitches she had hung in her cubicle it was clear she had a knack for repetitive tasks.

 

Castiel and Ash agreed to divvy up the new features Dean had invented as he went, Castiel pointed out that several of the vague descriptions of things Dean had promised the clients were only slightly different from features he had added last week so he could largely crib from last week’s push, which was a huge relief all around. They still had their regular work to do on top of this after all, and everyone had worked all weekend.  

 

There were a couple people on his team that had started while Castiel was away so he didn’t know them very well, but they seemed like good additions and right now in particular Castiel was glad of the new faces. Jesse had a family, a partner and a new daughter, so the team had insisted he only work a little overtime last week, whatever he could manage from home, and he had gratefully accepted. Jesse offered to help Anna with the data entry now that his daughter was over her recent cold, which Anna accepted cheerfully.  Castiel quietly felt ashamed of his complaining, he hadn’t even thought about Jesse’s struggle last week when he mentioned his daughter was sick. Only now, looking at the dark circles under the young man’s eyes, did Castiel consider that a sick infant probably did not sleep at night. 

 

Castiel offered Jesse a sympathetic smile.  “I’m sorry about your daughter’s illness, it must have been difficult sleeping last week.” 

 

Jesse grinned and nodded. “Understatement of the year, but yeah, thanks.”

 

The other person Castiel didn’t know very well yet was a tall, gangly youth by the name of Garth. Castiel had found him agreeably affable so far. Despite his slow manner of speech he seemed quite bright, though he also seemed to struggle with deadlines and punctuality. Since Garth hadn’t made it to work on time to get to the meeting, it was unanimously voted that he could be volunteered to man the customer helpline ticketing system for the week, a task universally dreaded by all present since it meant continually being interrupted from doing useful work to handhold customers through what should be obvious tasks. Also, endlessly resetting their passwords for them. And, Castiel remembered from one horrifying occasion, patiently explaining the difference between click and doubleclick. He shuddered and let himself enjoy the schadenfreude at Garth’s expense for a few seconds, grinning at his team as they collectively tossed Garth under the bus. 

 

“You have to take time to enjoy the little things,” Ash sighed, and Castiel found himself sharing Anna’s mirth, if not her actual giggling.

 

The team agreed to split up to cover more ground. Four people stood up from around the table with the various groans of people who had been atrophying into their chairs for a week. Castiel headed back to his cubicle only to pass Dean wandering towards the break room with an empty coffee mug. Dean was by all appearances fresh and rested after a probably lovely weekend of relaxing, his hair perfect and his smile bright. His suit was perfectly pressed and perfectly form-fitting, and Castiel forgot to try not to glare, the point nearly moot as he fought, instead, not to stare.

 

“Good Morning Castiel, did you have a good weekend?”

 

Castiel’s mouth dropped open at that, but his imminent retort was cut off by Anna appearing at his elbow and smoothly answering for both of them: “We had a lot of work to finish over the weekend from your sales, Dean, so Castiel is feeling a little grumpy today, but we all appreciate the new clients, right Castiel?”

 

“Right, yes, of course.” Castiel answered automatically, done now, with any desire to interact with humans. “I should get back to work now. Good to see you Dean.” He pointedly did not storm away under Anna’s watchful eye, nor did he see Dean looking after him, chagrined.

 

“Shit, Anna, I’m really getting off to a great start pissing off the one guy who’s got it in for me. I didn’t think about the work I was adding to all of your plates, I’m really sorry. I have to sell though or I’m out, Zachariah was very clear -”

 

“It’s fine Dean,” Anna soothed. “You sell. We’ll code. It’s a beautiful synergy that will lead us to have lovely IPO babies someday.” She grinned at Dean’s discomfited look. 

 

“Initial Public Offering.”  Dean still stared at her blankly.  

 

“Stock sale, Dean. Lots and lots of m o n e y.”

 

“Ohhh.” The look of terror that had swept across Dean’s face at the word “babies” dissolved into a wistful smile as they both sighed and pictured piles of money.

 

“Alright well it’s back to the code mines for me, Dean, don’t get into too much trouble.” Anna winked at him as she swept back the way she had come.  

 

Dean absently poured coffee into his mug and worried about the fury he had briefly seen on Castiel’s face. The guy was smooth, it had been gone in a flash, but he had to be more careful. He had to figure out what he was doing to make Castiel so angry and course correct before he lost the chance he’d been granted a week ago with a half-smile that had been  _ consciously  _ allowed to continue to Castiel’s eyes, and a firm, warm handshake whose memory made his hand tingle.

 

***

 

By the time Thursday rolled around it was clear they’d all be working through the weekend again. Anna declared they were going to have to treat this like a marathon - not a sprint - or everyone was going to burn out. She insisted everyone but Jesse knock off work early to wander over to  _ Sugar Tonight _ , their nearby favorite bar, have a drink, and try to relax for a hot minute - “Yes, even you Castiel, we haven’t seen you out in weeks and you’ve barely stopped by since you came back to work.” Jesse, of course, was free to go home to his family early. Only Castiel put up a fight but he was easily bested by threats of Casual Friday being voted mandatory as a team-building exercise.

 

Castiel begrudgingly agreed under these egregious blackmail conditions and promised to catch up, since he was just wrapping up a substantial change to the customer portal and didn’t want to lose his train of thought.  He ended up trailing after the others by about an hour, throwing on his coat and absently running his fingers through his untameable hair before heading over to the bar. 

 

Castiel’s skin was crawling with pent-up energy and he was itching from lack of exercise and sexual release. Anna was right, he was definitely going to have to treat this as a marathon rather than a sprint or he was going to go insane or quit.  If he quit before their first IPO his stock options reverted to the company, a contract clause he now deeply regretted accepting. Well, this was not a great time for self-care of a sexual nature, but he could stretch his legs. The bar was several blocks away, possibly an entire mile. Castiel scoffed at himself, he routinely ran for hours at a time. WELL, he might as well walk there and back, to get a start on the self-care he’d been ignoring for what was it, a week ago Monday? Eleven days in a row. That had to be a personal record, Castiel mused, for going without an orgasm.

 

Castiel thought that one over the entire brisk walk to the bar, but he could remember no other stretch of time since before he first discovered how to masturbate that he had gone so long without sexual release, barring times of grief or illness, which required different kinds of self-care and which he reasoned were therefore exempt. His mind wandered from there and by the time he arrived at the bar where he would have to spend several hours talking to humans, preferably without an erection, he really, really regretted the train of thought.  

 

Castiel sighed and walked into the bar, nodding at the bouncer who knew the FindATable dot com crew well.  He stopped just inside the door, given pause by - and occasion to admire - an incredibly attractive backside bent over the pool table, the owner of said backside intent on making a complicated shot. Castiel’s head tilted unconsciously, savoring the view while no one had noticed him and he was safe to just have a moment for himself - maybe save something to think about later - and then Ash hooted at him and waved from the other side of the pool table. 

 

Castiel had a split second of disorientation as he smoothed his face into nonchalance and waved back, and then the owner of the backside stood up to admire his winning shot, and it was Dean. He had been appreciating Dean Winchester’s posterior.   _ Oh for the love of Christ. _ Castiel groaned and headed directly to the bar to order a double of Maker’s Mark on the rocks.  He knocked the drink back the moment it arrived, willing the burn in his throat and stomach to extend to his mind to burn out the visuals he had been storing for later.

 

Castiel joined his friends at their table with a second drink to nurse, made polite conversation, laughed at their jokes, smirked at Garth’s animated tales of horror from his week running the help desk… all the while helplessly watching Dean.  Dean was playing pool with Ash and it looked like they were fast friends already, arguing good-naturedly and buying each other rounds. Castiel smiled half a smile and nodded acknowledgement when Dean felt his gaze, looked his way, flashing Dean a grin at being caught, but he did not look away.  Castiel watched Dean play pool with skill and grace, watched him goad Ash into putting his money where his mouth was, watched him loosen his tie and tuck it into his shirt pocket to make a complicated shot. He watched Dean win several games in a row, lose a couple, watched him goad Ash into a little more money on the next round. 

 

Castiel watched Dean’s arms and chest flex as he racked the balls, swallowed involuntarily as he watched him rub chalk on the pool cue, watched his eyes shine at the competition and the love of the game.  When Dean glanced at the clock on the wall it was just approaching nine pm, early by Castiel’s reckoning, but Castiel was actually impressed to see Dean pretend to line up an overly complicated shot, narrowly miss that shot; accidentally, just by the barest of touches, pocketing the 8-ball early to end the game. Castiel watched Dean affect completely sincere chagrin, clap Ash on the back, surrender the stakes with cheerful goodwill.  Christ, he was a  _ master _ . Ash was delighted, he was clearly having the best night ever. Dean was an admirably cheerful loser, sliding over to their table to smile at everyone, compliment Ash’s pools skills, buy them a round on his way out, he had to get going.

 

Castiel stared at Dean in awe as he charmed his way back into the good graces of everyone at the table. He clapped Garth on the back and threatened to take all his money next time if he wasn’t as good as Ash, grinned at Anna and chastely gave her the hug she leaned into him for, even  _ asked after Jesse’s daughter _ .  Anna assured him she was feeling better and that Jesse would surely come by next week. The billiards loss had been a ruse, Castiel was certain of it, but the interest in everyone here seemed completely sincere. He could find no false notes in Dean’s interest in his friends, he just seemed to… like them.  

 

Dean came around to Castiel last, where he sat quietly nursing the last of his second double of bourbon. Dean looked Castiel directly in the eyes and paid him the courtesy of laying on no charm whatsoever. He nodded at Castiel, his face completely open, and spoke genuinely. “I am glad to see you Castiel. I’ve been wanting to apologize about the extra work I’m causing all of you.” 

 

“It’s fiiiiine” hollered Anna, but Dean was looking to Castiel for his verdict and for once paid no attention to Anna’s interference. Castiel studied Dean’s face but found no discernable signs of deception, sighed and nodded his agreement to an extension of their truce. “No, she’s right, we do need the sales Dean. It’s just been… exhausting. I’ll live.”

 

“Thank you,” murmured Dean, responding to the part Castiel had not said out loud, and to Castiel’s surprise, Dean placed his hand gently on Castiel’s forearm in a gesture of thanks. Castiel froze. Castiel’s arm felt electric where Dean was touching him, and it couldn’t be just him because Dean perceptibly startled as well, stared at his hand on Castiel’s arm for a split second in surprise, and then reluctantly removed it as his face registered concern he’d maybe crossed a line.  Castiel unfroze, shrugged slightly and smiled, a real smile that reached his eyes. Dean nodded and softly blew out his breath in relief.

 

“Alright that’s it for me guys, I gotta head out, but it was great to see you!” Dean offered in parting, pulling on his suit jacket and sweeping towards the door. Several long strides and he was gone, and there was a brief moment of silence before everyone but Castiel started talking at once about how great he was.  Castiel just stared after him, silently considering what angle that gorgeous man might be playing at, and guiltily savoring the heat in his arm where Dean had touched him.

 

***

 

Dean pulled up outside the library at Stanford where Sam was waiting outside impatiently, backpack over his shoulder. 

 

“We said nine” Sam complained, as he slid into the passenger seat and pulled the door shut with a creak. The old girl needed some WD-40.

 

“I know Sam, sorry I’m late. I was schmoozing the software team, didn’t realize I picked their regular hangout to have a beer in.”

 

“Oh!,” Sam perked up, “How’d that go?”

 

“Really well, actually. Let this guy Ash win at pool. You should see this guy’s mullet Sam, it’s insane.  He seems like a great guy, I think you’d really dig him. He was pretty good but you should have seen my losing shot Sam, it was fucking amazing.”

 

Sam grinned. “I bet. How ‘bout the rest of them?”

 

“Well, Anna’s been on my good side already…”  Dean grinned and Sam rolled his eyes.

 

“You shouldn’t have done that, Dean.” 

 

“Yeah, I know, but I had no way of knowing she was for real, and it’s working out okay so far. She’s been really great actually running interference with the guy that’s got it in for me.”

 

“Castiel?”

 

“Yeah, Castiel. He was watching me the whole time Sam, I don’t think he looked away once.”

 

Dean fell silent, thinking about Castiel watching him. He had felt the weight of Castiel’s attention from the moment Castiel had sat down at the bar, then the whole time he sat and talked with his friends. He hadn’t pretended he wasn’t looking, he had openly admitted as much when Dean looked his way, yet he had kept watching even after he knew Dean knew. Dean was pretty sure Castiel knew he’d let Ash win, pretty sure Castiel was actually  _ impressed _ by his losing shot, and he had felt a thrill at that he couldn’t quite pin down. He… had enjoyed Castiel watching him play pool, and he had no idea what to make of that.

 

“Well?” asked Sam, “Is he on to us yet?”

 

“I don’t… think so,” Dean replied, carefully considering the nod, the smile. “He gave me an extension on the probation he’s got me on. He’s still watching though, so I’m not home free yet or anything. I think I gotta play him straight, as honest as I can, he’s just… immune to my usual tricks. But the rest of them love me Sammy, just gotta get Cas on board.”

 

Sam grinned and punched Dean lightly on the arm.  “You’ll get him on team Winchester, Dean, you’re great at this.” Sam affected an after school special tone of voice and added theatrically “I beLIEVE in you, Dean!”

 

Dean snorted. “Thanks. But he’s smart and he’s suspicious Sammy, I gotta make myself more valuable than he can afford to get fired, and so far whatever I’m doing has been sucking up all of their nights and weekends. I don’t know what to do different and I don’t dare ask.”

 

“We’ll figure it out.” Sam promised, and Dean sighed, nodded, and kept the rest of his worries to himself.


	4. Shattered Truce

Castiel’s new normal dissolved into a blur of coding new features and doing data entry for most of his waking hours, punctuated by concerted attempts to eat more healthy takeout to counter his reduced exercise regimen.  There was still a shower in the company gym even though they’d sold most of the equipment, so he swapped his customary running after work for running a loop at lunch since he wasn’t getting home until past dark anyway, swapped getting to his gym a few times a week for doing pushups and squats in the abandoned work gym after the runs. He was careful not to neglect his other self-care including his group therapy meetings he’d skipped for the first several weeks of Dean’s employment. Despite the long work hours he did feel better overall, but this pace was unsustainable and he knew it.

 

Castiel’s team made a point of getting to Thursday bar nights religiously, desperately clinging to a sense of normalcy as their lives slipped out from under them and were sucked into their workstations and swivel chairs. Dean was always there, waiting with a beer and a smile and an open pool table for all challengers until he ducked out just before nine pm like clockwork. Castiel was careful not to admire Dean’s body like he had by accident that first time, but although he would not play, he did let himself watch Dean play pool with open admiration for his skill at the game.  When Dean hustled a stranger out of several bills one Thursday night, it was Castiel he looked towards to share a victory smile, and when Castiel returned it with a quiet nod of approval, Dean’s face actually turned a little red - with pleasure or pride or embarrassment Castiel could not fathom.

 

Their uneasy detente continued for weeks until Castiel arrived at work one Monday morning to discover that Dean had said yes to a particularly imaginative new feature that was going to cost Castiel either his sanity or possibly jail time for murder. Surely any reasonable jury would call it self-defense, but still. Castiel left the Monday morning software huddle with fury on his brow and battle in his heart, and despite Anna’s explicit command to let it lie, she was, after all, not actually his boss and he stormed into Dean’s office anyway.

 

Dean looked up from his monitor, startled, as Castiel threw open his door without knocking and hissed “You have to STOP IT.”

 

Dean was on his feet in a moment, his face conciliatory, his hands held out in a neutral gesture.

 

“Stop what, Castiel? What do you need me to stop doing?”

 

“I need you to stop _ inventing _ features we don’t have! Every time you say yes to whatever some entrepreneur pulls out of their ass you are  _ killing _ me.”

 

Dean crossed to the door, pushed it gently shut, turned back to Castiel.  He held one hand out in supplication and ran the other through his hair distractedly. 

 

“I’m sorry, Castiel. I don’t know what you mean.”

 

Castiel’s wrath ebbed as Dean did not try to manage him - laid on no charm - just waited hopefully for him to explain. His fury drained away, replaced with defeated exhaustion.

 

“Dean, everyone here is delighted with the sales you’re making and you are certainly doing that, you are selling for the record. But half the time what you are selling is  _ not the software we currently have _ . You are selling features that don’t exist, and I am killing myself writing them as fast as you are selling them. I cannot keep up Dean. I need you to work with me here, I do not want to have to…”  he didn’t finish, it wasn’t necessary.

 

Dean’s face registered horror, then chagrin. “Fuck, I’m really sorry Castiel, I had no idea I was doing that to you, to all of you.”  Dean circled back around to his chair so he could sink into it, put his face in his hands for a minute, rub his temples, look back up at Castiel beseechingly.

 

“What do you want me to do?”

 

Castiel stared at him. “Sell what we have, not what we don’t.”

 

“I’m trying, I really am.”

 

Damnation, he  _ was _ trying, Castiel realized. Dean was staring up at him with real consternation, he honestly couldn’t tell the difference between real and imaginary features.

 

Castiel ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

 

“OK how about this. Rule of thumb, Dean, if we already store the information, displaying it in a new way is not too difficult. If we don’t already store the information it’s a much more time-consuming task to add the functionality.”

 

Panic crept across Dean’s face and Castiel sighed and tried again. “When the client asks for something that you can’t find in the demo, text me and ask me if it’s easy or hard, and if I answer that it’s hard, tell them that feature is planned for the next release but won’t be ready for a few months. Alright? Here is my number.”  He crossed to Dean’s desk and wrote his number on Dean’s notepad. 

 

“You got it Castiel, I promise.”  

 

Dean looked so earnestly regretful that Castiel found it in his heart to forgive him, again.  

 

“Okay.”  The look he gave Dean held the rest of the sentence that neither of them needed Castiel to say out loud. This was the last chance. Castiel couldn't do this anymore, and if he had to go to war, Dean would lose.

 

Dean nodded his acceptance of these terms, and Castiel returned to his cubicle to try to make some headway on the newest disaster.

 

***

 

The new arrangement between Dean and Castiel worked much better for almost three full weeks with no one else the wiser, until the Friday morning Anna got hold of an early copy of a giant contract Dean was in the process of closing and Castiel got to take a sneak peek at his part of it at lunch. Dean had signed away  _ months _ of Castiel’s life in a few sentences without a single text to check in. 

 

This was the last straw. Castiel grabbed the contract xerox and stormed into Dean’s office. 

 

Dean was expecting him. 

 

“I’m so sorry, Castiel. He cornered me and there was no way I could text you --”

 

“MONTHS, DEAN. IT’S GOING TO TAKE ME MONTHS TO IMPLEMENT THIS.”

 

They stared at each other, Dean in an agony of apology and Castiel deadly in his fury.

 

They were interrupted by Dean’s office phone ringing. Dean made no motion to answer it, staring up at at Castiel, frozen. After the third ring Castiel rolled his eyes towards the phone, and, granted permission, Dean went ahead and picked up.

 

“Yes sir.” Dean looked up at Castiel, betrayal written across his face. Castiel shook his head. No, he hadn't taken anything up the chain of command yet.  The betrayal bled out of Dean’s face, changed to worry as he listened. Castiel strained to eavesdrop but he couldn't hear anything from the receiver.

 

“Yes sir. I’ll be right there sir.”

 

Dean hung up and looked to Castiel with fear on his face. “You didn't say anything to Zachariah?”

 

“No. Not yet.”

 

“ _ Fuck _ . He said he needed to speak with me immediately. It sounded bad. Can we... do this later?”

 

Castiel nodded. “Yes. Good luck.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes as he made sure his tie was on straight, took a deep breath, and smoothed nonchalance over the fear in his face and body in a sweeping transformation so convincing that Castiel would not have believed it possible if he hadn’t just witnessed it. Dean absently held the door open for Castiel as they both left his office.

 

Castiel returned to his cubicle to try to get a more accurate fix on how bad this mess was going to be, keeping one eye on Zachariah’s office door to get a read on the fallout.


	5. Don’t Panic!

Castiel glanced up from his desk as Zachariah’s office door opened and Dean stood briefly silhouetted in the doorway, face completely blank, posture erect. Dean nodded politely towards the inside of the room and carefully closed the door behind him. For a single unguarded moment his body sagged and his face betrayed such anguish Castiel’s stomach felt like he’d been kicked, then the blank mask returned and Dean strode towards the cubicles, turned, and disappeared down the hall towards the men’s room.

 

Castiel felt an empathetic pang of that familiar fear, tendrils snaking up from low in his gut, which he angrily shoved down as he leapt up to follow Dean into the bathroom. He found the handicap stall door ajar and Dean kneeling on the floor in front of the low toilet, knees of his dress trousers unheeded on the wet tile, head down, arms wrapped around the bowl, shoulders shaking. Dean’s breath came in rapid shallow panting and his eyes were squeezed tightly shut. There was no sick in the bowl.

 

Castiel locked the stall door and was kneeling beside him in an instant, hesitating only a fraction of a second before pressing the length of his chest against Dean’s back, wrapping his arms around him from behind, his shoulders under Dean’s armpits and his biceps caging Dean’s chest like horizontal iron bars, one above the other, immediately tightening like a vice until Dean’s rapid gasping sounded more like choking.

 

“Dizzy?” he grunted into Dean’s ear. “Chest hurt?”

 

Dean groaned and nodded, shaking violently.

 

“I’ve got you. You’re OK. Slow breaths. Breathe with me Dean.”

 

Castiel pulled in a long slow breath, relaxing his arms just enough to allow Dean to do the same, then exhaled steadily and audibly for several seconds, increasing the pressure of his arms to encourage Dean to follow his lead. Dean struggled to do as he was told, trembling violently for several minutes as his panting slowed to the occasional hiccup and he followed Castiel’s example, arms limp at his sides, Castiel’s vice grip on Dean’s chest the only thing keeping him from collapsing over the toilet again.

 

Time slowed. There was an eternity of two pairs of lungs, slowly drawing breath and releasing it, one slow metronome heart keeping time, a second heartbeat’s rapid staccato gradually easing to follow that adagio tempo.

 

Dean blinked. He was four years old in his Mom’s arms, safe. No, wait, he was a grown man, kneeling on the floor of a wet bathroom stall, his head leaning back onto someone’s shoulder, strong arms wrapped around him like a boa constrictor. His face felt damp, his throat raw. His breathing was slow and relaxed, and he could feel a steady heartbeat against his back, feel his lungs expanding and releasing in tandem with the firm wall of warmth pressed to his back.

 

“What the FUCK?”

 

The arms around him immediately relaxed their hold, caught him as he nearly pitched into the toilet, waited a beat as he got his bearings, and then released him for good. The wall of heat retreated, and Dean realized he was absolutely drenched in acrid flop sweat, and, now, freezing.

 

Dean slumped back onto his haunches and half-turned to face his assailant, crossing his arms defiantly across his chest not half to keep from shivering.

 

He did not expect to find Castiel kneeling behind him, brow furrowed in concern, one hand held out in apology like a benediction. Castiel’s white dress shirt was visibly damp from collar to belt and Dean unconsciously hugged himself tighter in confused embarrassment.

 

The two men stared at each other then each blurted:

 

“What the FUCK -”

 

“You were having a panic attack -”

 

“Oh.” Dean uncrossed one arm to rub the back of his neck and stared down at his soaked, wrinkled shirt. He fingered one of the buttons on his shirtfront sheepishly and watched his finger turn white under his fingernail as he pinched the button _really fucking hard_ between his index finger and his thumb.

 

“Thanks,” he mumbled quietly, without looking up. “I feel a lot better than after the last…” he trailed off, his mind clearly somewhere else now.

 

“Dean?”

 

Dean snapped back to the present, looked up at Castiel’s crinkled forehead from his slumped position sitting on his heels.

 

“Do you get these a lot?” Castiel asked, his voice so gentle that Dean’s shoulders unhunched a fraction of an inch. His hands dropped to his lap palms up. Dean’s glance dropped to study the palms of his hands absently, chewing his bottom lip, before finally meeting Castiel’s eyes.

 

“No.” he whispered. “Not since…” Dean faltered, searching Castiel’s face, but Castiel’s eyes held no judgement, none of the pity he was dreading. Dean found only kindness, concern, and he continued hoarsely, voice cracking, “not since the day my Dad passed and Sammy found me - “  

 

Dean couldn’t continue and he broke eye contact to stare down at his hands again, his eyes red and far away.

 

Castiel didn’t press him, waited silently. His hands twitched reflexively but he did not reach out to touch. After a long moment of silence Dean gulped air and looked back up at Castiel.

 

“Thanks, man. You didn’t have to and...” - he chuckled dejectedly - “and I’ve ruined your shirt.”

 

“Of course Dean, _of_ _course_ I had to and it’s perfectly alright. I have many shirts.”

 

“Really?” Dean teased, smiling for real now “Because I’ve only ever seen this one -”

 

“I have many shirts exactly like this one Dean,” Castiel rejoined in an affronted tone. “I happen to LIKE this shirt - “

 

The men’s room door slammed open and both men fell silent, frozen.

 

They pointedly did not look at each other as someone took a piss, did not wash their hands, left, door slamming behind them.

 

 _Shit. Right._ “How am I gonna get out of here?” Dean whispered, “I can’t go back to my office like this!”

 

Castiel considered for a moment:

 

“Did you drive today?”

 

“No! I got a ride in -”

 

“I’ve got this. I’ll take you home, I’ll just go tell Anna you got food poisoning and grab our jackets alright?”

 

“You don’t have to do that, I don’t want you to have to go out of your way - y’know, I mean go _more_ out of your way -  for me”

 

“I insist. Please, or I’ll worry.”

 

Dean frowned at Castiel, but there was no artifice in his face, no guile. He just stared at Dean with genuine concern written across his incredibly symmetrical features, the dark furrows of his brows meeting above his perfect nose and his wide eyes intensely fixed on Dean’s face in supplication.

 

“Okay,” Dean accepted with relief, blowing out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Thank you.”

 

***

 

It was a matter of a few minutes for Castiel to make good on his word, arriving with their coats and his laptop case slung over his arm just as Dean finished patting his face dry over the sink with paper towels, the cold water splash helping his frame of mind if not his body temperature.

 

Dean pulled his suit coat on gratefully and buttoned it over his disheveled dress shirt. There was nothing he could do about his soggy knees, but Castiel - first checking up and down the hall with the men’s room door barely cracked open - stepped out and motioned to him to follow and Dean fell in lockstep behind him without hesitation.

 

Castiel led them rapidly down the hall in the opposite direction from the elevators, his tan trench coat flapping a little behind him with his long strides, then he ducked through a side door into a stairwell. Dean breathed a sigh of relief as the door clanged shut behind them, no one was going to see his wet knees - or his red-rimmed eyes - now.  He flashed Castiel a grateful half-smile. Castiel quirked a lip and gave him a conspiratorial wink, turned and just _flew_ down the stairs, leaving Dean flummoxed and then scrambling to catch up.

 

Several flights down Castiel pushed through another door and they were in the dim gray concrete of the company parking garage. He waved Dean to the passenger side of a true abomination of a vintage Lincoln Continental, shrugging noncommittally at Dean’s raised eyebrows.

 

“I like her,” he said softly by way of explanation, fondly running a hand along the hideous woodgrain of the dashboard as they shut their respective doors and pulled on their seatbelts, safe inside the belly of the beast.

 

“I logged you out of your workstation and locked your office for you” Castiel offered, as he turned the key and the engine sputtered to life, doing a rousing impression of a bag of rocks in a washing machine.

 

“Oh Shit. Thanks, I didn’t even think about it” Dean groaned, dismayed. His face registered almost physical pain - although whether from Castiel’s reminder or his car there was no telling.

 

Castiel cranked the heat even though it was a warm day, for which Dean was silently grateful.

 

“No problem. Where to?”

 

“Uh, East Side, straight down the 101 to the exit just past the intersection with 280, near King and Story. Do you know it?  Wait, am I anywhere remotely on your way?”

 

Castiel shook his head dismissively, reversing his boat out of her docking slip to head southeast, his face giving absolutely no indication this was, in fact, exactly the opposite direction from his house. “Yes I know it, and don’t worry about that.” Castiel glanced at Dean and then returned his attention to maneuvering out of the parking garage, responding firmly to Dean’s forlorn expression. “Stop that. I am taking you home and that’s all there is to it.”

 

Dean’s body relaxed into the gold leather of his seat, resigned, but his eyes crinkled and his mouth insolently muttered “You’re not the boss of me.”

 

The single raised eyebrow in the challenging glance that Castiel shot his way before returning his eyes to the road knocked Dean completely speechless. The warmth blowing in from the vents that had been welcome moments before was now somehow far too hot and Dean struggled to regain his composure as a flush crept up the back of his neck and made itself at home on the tips of his ears.

 

Castiel drove with his his full attention, alert, hands on the wheel at ten and two, occasionally tapping his thumbs on the wheel to some rhythm only he could hear. He drove exactly the speed limit, signaled every time he changed lanes, and started braking earlier than could possibly be necessary for every red light.  It wasn’t how Dean would have pictured him at the task, but now he couldn’t picture it any other way. This car _suited_ Castiel, and Dean softened towards her very existence just a little bit.

 

They rode in relative silence for several miles, the only sound the engine polishing her bag of stones, the vents rattling hot air, and the tapestry of traffic noise around them. At the the interstate cloverleaf traffic came to a standstill and Dean risked interrupting Castiel’s concentration.

 

“How did you know what to do?”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“How did you know that - that uh, that hugging me would help?”

 

“Ah. Yes. That.”

 

Castiel’s eyes did not leave the road, but his fingers stilled their drumming on the steering wheel as he hesitated, obviously choosing his words with care.

 

“I have learned certain techniques for dealing with anxiety from a counselor.”

 

“Your therapist hugs you? Dude, that sounds more L.A. than San José...”

 

“No.” Castiel’s tone was clipped and his mouth formed a flat line.

 

Dean regretted his flippant tone immediately. “I’m sorry,” he stammered, “really.”

 

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them and Dean tried nervously to fill it.

 

“San José is... very progressive. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to... “

 

Castiel sighed, rubbed his face. He switched off the heat and gripped the steering wheel again.

 

“No, it’s alright, you have a right to know why I touched you without your permission.

I attend a support group for veterans coping with post-traumatic stress disorder. They teach several coping techniques, none of which were exactly suited to your situation, but I extrapolated.”

 

Dean’s hungry mind offered up an all-you-can-ask buffet of new questions to replace the amuse-bouche that was just served. He practically gaped at Castiel before catching himself and smoothing a neutral expression over his features.

 

Castiel turned to look at Dean’s face, his eyes searching for something, fingers drumming on the steering wheel again, but now they were just... nervous. “It seems to have worked, yes? Again, I apologize for -”

 

“Yes, yes it worked!” Dean interrupted, his sincerity palpable. “I appreciate it, seriously it’s okay. I was just surprised, that’s all. It was actually kinda nice, haven’t been hugged in... “  He trailed off to silence, cheeks flushing, only this time Castiel’s full attention on him made it worse.

 

Whatever Castiel was searching for in Dean’s face, he apparently found it, because he nodded, satisfied, and returned his attention to the road. The winding traffic hydra chose that moment to extend a neck and they were moving again, part of the unpredictable creature winding its way through the streets of San José.


	6. Meet the Neighbors

Dean spent the remainder of the ride staring unfocused out the window. His burning curiosity about Castiel’s circumstances soon gave way to an impending sense of dread about facing his own. His circling miasma of despair only gave way to more immediate concerns when Castiel turned on to Story Road and Dean’s brain finally parsed that through to the logical conclusion.

 

“OH, uh, Castiel you can drop me off anywhere. Right here is fine.”

 

Castiel was peering at building numbers on the dilapidated buildings with great concentration. 

 

“What number is it?”

 

“Here is fine, man.”

 

Castiel glared at Dean now, clearly exasperated, slowing but not stopping the car.

 

“Dean, Please. You’ve had an exhausting experience and for my own sanity I need to see you safely home.  I  _ will _ see you to your door. ”

 

Dean gave up.

 

“Take a left on McCreery, then your first right. Pretty much just keep driving until you get to the worst end of the street.”

 

Castiel did not react to Dean’s comment in any discernible way, just kept examining the street signs he could see when they weren’t missing or blocked by stacks of boxes or garbage, turned left at the correct street and then right as instructed.

 

“It’s the next lot on the right,” Dean offered sullenly.  Castiel signaled and turned into the parking lot of what looked like a run down motel straight out of the seventies, the two-level kind with all the doors to the street and a concrete balcony with rusty iron rails wrapping the second story in a continuous gray and rust colored horseshoe.

 

Castiel parked and switched off the engine, which came to rest after rearranging her surely glistening precious stones to their final resting place a couple times. He undid his seatbelt and got out of the car as Dean did the same. There was clearly no way Dean was getting out of being literally walked to his door.  

 

A couple languid twenty-somethings lounging in one of the first-story doorways stopped appraising the car as they saw Dean climbing out of it, nodded to Dean who nodded back his thanks, and turned their insouciant appraisal to Castiel instead.  A motley crew of enterprising teenagers looked up from apparently forcibly prying the back seats out of of beat-up Dodge Omni GLH a couple parking slots down and flipped Dean off amicably. Dean shook his head and returned the gesture with a quirked lip and an exasperated shout of “SAVAGES!”, which earned him a round of satisfied grins.  A young woman with fire-engine red lips and fingernails, her breasts very nearly contained in the hot pink camisole she was technically inside, cantilevered herself even further over the scary-looking railing on the second story where she was smoking to offer a low whistle in their direction and Dean winked at her saucily. The rectangular courtyard-cum-parking area was buzzing with activity like a hive;  an ecosystem. It was  _ alive _ .

 

Dean watched Castiel’s posture stiffen and his hands curl into fists as he assessed their surroundings, and he flattened a placating hand on the roof of Castiel’s beast, reaching towards Castiel across the hardtop, willing him to stay calm.

 

“Hey man, these guys are my friends,” Dean assured him, loudly enough to carry. “Nothing’s gonna happen to your car. Right guys? 

Guys, this is my friend Castiel. 

Castiel; Alex and Big Man.“

 

“Uh, Alejandro and Manuel to you,” he corrected himself softly to Castiel.

 

“You got it Dean!” Big Man assured him, grinning broadly.

 

“Nice to meet you Cas-tee-yell!” hollered Alejandro.

 

“It is very good to meet any of Dean’s friends.” Castiel offered sincerely, his hands uncurling at his sides. “I am pleased to make your acquaintances, Alejandro and Manuel.”

 

“You can call me Alex  todo la noche Cas-tee-yell! Where’d you find HIM, Dean?” Alejandro crowed as they approached, but he fell abruptly silent as the one Dean called Big Man cleared his throat and stood up straight  - making him around six five or so - to very seriously hold out an enormous brown hand, at the end of a heavily tattooed assortment of brown muscles, which Castiel accepted and shook graciously.

 

“Any friend of Dean’s is welcome here.” Big Man said gravely. “You can call me ‘Big Man’, Castiel. We will watch over your old lady for you. Make sure no miscreants even think about touching her.”

 

Staring up at Big Man with his hand engulfed entirely in the other man’s firm grip Castiel  _ knew _ \-  despite suddenly feeling like an awkward teen again,   transported to his shy, stuttering youth for a moment,  the way his occasional uncertainty  in parsing nonverbal communication with new people was wont to do - Castiel  _ understood beyond a shadow of a doubt _ , that although Big Man had used the word “welcome”, what he meant was “safe”. 

 

“Thank you Big Man.” said Castiel just as gravely. “I am very fond of her.”

 

Big Man smiled beatifically down at Castiel and released his hand, then he clapped Dean on the shoulder, an affectionate gesture which Dean easily returned.

 

Dean flashed a tired but dazzling grin at Big Man, which left Castiel feeling vaguely envious, and leaned forward to confide conspiratorially  “Shit I’d love to get Diego’s boys to take a look at her though, godDAMN that engine needs a tune-up. I’d do it but I don’t have any parts for her. If Castiel is okay with that I mean of course…”

 

He looked at Castiel pleadingly. “C’mon, man I’m not even sure you’ll make it home with her sounding like that. They would only need like a half-hour, hour tops, right Big Man? They’ve got spark plugs laying around that’ll fit her somewhere, no doubt?”

 

Castiel, completely nonplussed, was now the one rendered briefly speechless.

 

“She’s always sounded like that!  I thought that was normal!”

 

Dean gaped at Castiel, mouth open, as Alejandro giggled “Ohhh  Cariño , Noooo.”

 

Dean shook his head in disbelief as his friends snickered and he straight up defcon one  _ smiled _ at Castiel, a slowly igniting fire that started at the corners of his mouth, stretched mirthful lips to showcase glistening white teeth, worked its way up his cheeks, danced over his impossibly long eyelashes, and landed in the corners of his eyes. 

 

Castiel was transfixed, mesmerized. His eyes were drawn to Dean’s lips and he swallowed involuntarily as he watched Dean carefully, clearly, enunciate:  

 

“I insist. Please, or I’ll worry.”

 

The laugh that burst out of Castiel at Dean’s utter dick move surprised everyone, Castiel most of all. It was a pure, beautiful thing that tore from his chest and bent him over and crinkled his whole face into a completely new, glorious configuration, all gums and teeth and joy.

 

Dean stared at him in utter delight, his exhaustion and the weight of his day forgotten and his answering smile wide and bright. Big Man and Alejandro shared a look that neither Dean nor Castiel noticed as they stared at each other, Castiel trying to glare but mostly grinning with sheer incredulity, Dean’s returning grin triumphant and smug.

 

Castiel wiped his eyes with the back of a trenchcoated arm and shook his head as he surrendered his keys to Dean.

 

“Well played, you ass.”

 

“Thank you, Sir.” Dean mock bowed. He looked hopefully towards Big Man, who nodded with a sympathetic smile at Castiel, and caught the keys easily as Dean tossed them his way. 

 

“Two shakes Gringo Muy Guapo,” he assured Dean. “I’ll have Diego’s crew up here in ten minutes.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes at the diminutive and grinned “Thanks Man, I owe you another one.”

 

Manuel just shook his head, and Dean beckoned Castiel towards the crumbling stairs to the second story with a head tilt.

 

“Come on man, I reek. Let me grab us some beers and get myself cleaned up.”

 

Dean unlocked the door to number 241 and stepped inside, beckoning for Castiel to follow. 


	7. Won’t you Come In?

The room was straight out of the seventies, looked like it hadn’t been updated since. It was surprisingly spacious - hideous olive everything, a kitchenette with a wheezing refrigerator and what looked like a much newer microwave on the faded formica counter, kitchen table with two chairs occupying most of the floorspace in the kitchenette area, a faded, mustard brown couch along the opposite wall with a clock Castiel actually found appealing wall-mounted over it - one of those atomic clocks from the fifties, the second hand still dutifully ticking. An art deco style room divider screen contraption was currently being repurposed on one side as a suit rack with bent wire hooks jury-rigged through the wrought iron and glass.

 

Past the divider were two motel style double beds, each barely large enough to contain an adult, which caught Castiel’s speculative attention. Two? If Dean was this obviously looking to live on the cheap, wouldn’t it have been cheaper to rent a single? Or had he been cheating on someone with Anna?

 

Dean tossed his suit coat over a kitchen chair and crossed the space to the refrigerator in several long strides, unfastening his tie as he went. He had a couple domestic brews in his hand in one moment, a bottle opener the next and was handing an opened bottle to Castiel and taking a pull from the other in seconds flat. He grinned at Castiel’s wrinkled nose as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

 

“Only the first one hurts, after that they taste fine. And they are _very_ reasonably priced.”

 

“I believe you,” Castiel retorted, begrudgingly taking a swig and wincing. It tasted like a squirrel had defecated in a birdbath located under a hops vine.

 

Dean had already finished his beer and set the empty on the table in the space of time it had taken Castiel to work up the courage to try his, and Castiel found himself staring as Dean summarily stripped on his way to the bathroom, unbuttoning his wrinkled dress shirt, draping the tie and shirt and then his soiled pants over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, shucking his white teeshirt and tossing it into a pile by the beds, and heading into the bathroom in his boxers.

 

Castiel swallowed guiltily and finally managed to avert his eyes as Dean didn't bother to shut the bathroom door before pulling off his boxers and tossing those into the same laundry pile by the bed. _Christ_ but Dean was beautiful, not cut like the guys at the gym, but solid and strong, like a man who worked with his hands. Castiel shut his eyes, but smooth freckled skin still swam in his vision, and he mentally scolded himself for looking; that wasn’t fair to Dean. Dean didn’t know Castiel liked looking at men and wouldn’t appreciate being objectified without his knowledge or permission.

 

“Sit anywhere, Cas,” Dean hollered from the bathroom, “Seriously, make yourself at home. I’ll be out in five minutes!”

 

The water started and Castiel did sit, pulling out the other kitchen chair and mulling over the mystery of Dean Winchester as he idly picked at the label on his beer bottle. Why did he live here? Why was he accepted here, safety that extended to a strange man he brought home, apparently. Most intriguing of all for Castiel’s puzzle-solving mind, who slept in that second bed?

 

His reverie was interrupted by a knock at the door. Dean had just turned off the water and stuck his face out the bathroom door, toweling his hair.

 

“Cas, can you?...”

 

Castiel leapt up and answered the door, no sooner pulling it open than a child was inside, bent under a heavy plastic garment bag twice his height, carefully not dragging any part of it on the ground.

 

“Clean suit delivery!” the child yelled cheerfully, bright white teeth flashing a smile, bright eyes  barely visible under an unruly shock of dark curls. “Mamá found you a new one today Dean!”

 

“Who are you?”

 

That last was directed at Castiel, asked as the child heaved his burden into Castiel’s completely off-guard arms, and he struggled to catch it without dragging any of it on the ground.

 

“¡Hola primito! That’s my friend Castiel, José!” Dean answered, coming out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, smoothly relieving Castiel of his burden.  

 

“Cas, this is José. His Mom is an angel. She set me up with my entire work wardrobe from the unclaimed orders rack at her job.”

 

Dean hung the suits with the others on the makeshift suit rack, and crossed the room to rummage under the tiny kitchen sink, triumphantly pulling out a plastic shopping bag. He stuffed the clothes he’d left hanging over the kitchen chair into the shopping bag and reached for his wallet where he’d dumped it on the table.

 

“What’s the damage, kid? Wait, shouldn't you be at school?”

 

“Shouldn't you be at work?” José shot back smoothly,  and Dean laughed.

 

“Touché. Bad day at work, maybe my last day. Hope the next place needs suits.”

 

José grinned. “I wish it was MY last day. Bad day at school. I got suspended for fighting.“

 

“No black eye though!” observed Dean, “Did you try that move I showed you?”

 

José nodded proudly. “He backed down just like you said he would.”

 

“That’s right!” Dean exclaimed, pleased. “Bullies just need to know you won't take it anymore. High five! I’m proud of you!”

 

José beamed, and accepted the high five he was due with pride. Castiel watched Dean count out twice the amount José said his Mom wanted. “For your Mom,” Dean said sternly, as José nodded seriously.  “And tell her I’m sorry these clothes are so bad. Tell her I said I owe her one.” He handed the plastic shopping bag over with an apologetic smile and José wrinkled his nose at the smell. Dean slipped him a fiver. “For the delivery service.” José nodded again, now grinning ear to ear, and scampered back out the door, wad of cash firmly gripped in one fist, the plastic bag in the other.

 

Dean crossed to the closet and Castiel just barely averted his eyes in time before Dean was naked again, this time pulling on boxer-briefs and worn jeans and a soft grey henley.  He grabbed a pair of socks and well-worn work boots, and plopped down on the couch to pull them on, waving at Castiel impatiently to sit. Castiel sat.

 

“Aren't you gonna ask?” Dean was lacing a boot with his leg stretched across the coffee table. These clothes suited him, Castiel realized; these were Dean’s clothes. The suits were a costume, one Dean wore well. But not him.

 

“Ask what?”

 

“What happened at work.”

 

Castiel stared at Dean, puzzled. Dean looked surprised, then shook his head.  

 

“You really weren't, were you. Well, I’d be dying to know,” Dean muttered, sounding to Castiel’s ears maybe a tiny bit hurt.

 

“Don't misunderstand Dean, I am keenly interested in what Zachariah had to say to you today,” Castiel answered gently, “I just wasn't going to pry unless you offered. Did I correctly hear you say you are quitting?”

 

“No way, man, we need this!”  Dean was emphatic, serious. Castiel did not ask who “we” meant, but his curiosity ratcheted up a notch as Dean continued.

 

“This was the only job I could find with health insurance and I looked everywhere in a forty mile radius for over a month. I just… look, I know you already guessed this, I know you’ve been watching me, Cas, and I know you gave me like three chances even though I’ve been fucking up your life. I’m sorry about that. Since it looks like the jig is up I might as well give you the satisfaction of telling you you were right. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

 

Castiel stared at Dean, nonplussed.

 

“What are you saying exactly?”

 

“My resume, Cas. It’s completely fake. I don't know how to do any of the shit I said I do. I’m barely keeping my head above water here, and Zachariah said the big account I just landed this week, the one with six restaurant locations...” Dean shuddered at the recollection, the client had been exceptionally handsy and he had showered a really long time after he got home. “The client specified the deal was contingent on my training him personally on how to use the customer portal. I can't do that Cas, I can barely describe the thing I’m selling!”

 

Dean ran his hands through his hair and shut his eyes, his face pained.

 

Castiel was floored. Here was part of the mystery that had been plaguing him for weeks laid bare just like that, but Dean’s confession, instead of feeling satisfying, felt distressing. Dean was intelligent and hardworking, surely capable of many kinds of work, why would he choose something so far outside his comfort zone to live _here_?

 

As Castiel struggled to find a way to ask that wouldn't be insulting, a car roared below them in the street, turned off, and a car door slammed.

 

Dean leapt to his feet and smoothed his features, crossed to the refrigerator and had two beers open in his hand by the time the _why_ burst through the door.

 

Castiel watched, fascinated, as a tall, broad-shouldered teenager strode through the door, heavy backpack slung over one shoulder. He was strikingly attractive, athletic, shaggy hair framing a face that Castiel had to stop himself gawking at before he was rude. The young man couldn't be twenty yet and Castiel looked immediately to Dean to try to surmise the nature of their relationship. Dean, who was handing the teen an opened beer. Dean, whose face was smooth and unconcerned, but the young man accepted the beer and asked immediately “That bad, huh?”  

 

Dean dropped the charade and sagged.  “Yeah, I think I’m made after next week, week after at the latest, Sammy.”  The young man was looking at Dean but motioned his eyes pointedly towards Castiel, and Dean sighed. “It’s OK. He knows. Sam, this is Castiel from work. I told him. Castiel, my brother, Sam.”  

 

Castiel nodded at Sam, momentarily speechless as puzzle pieces clicked into place in his mind. Sam relaxed at Dean’s indication he could be trusted, nodded at him, and returned his full attention to Dean.

 

“What happened?”

 

“That big client told my boss the deal only goes through if I train him on the software personally. I won't be able to do it, they’re going to know I lied.”

 

“Wait, Grabby McGrabAss? The one that wouldn't keep his fucking hands off you?” Sam looked furious, but Dean waved a hand placatingly at Sam as rage slowly coiled deep in Castiel’s gut.

 

“ _I’m so sorry, Castiel. He cornered me - ,_ ”  Dean had _apologized to Castiel for being assaulted_.

 

“It’s okay. It’s a huge commission, it would have gotten you a laptop that can actually run the software you need.”

 

“It’s _not_ okay Dean.”

 

“Shut up. I shouldn't have told you.”

 

The brothers glared at each other. Castiel held his breath, acutely aware that he was eavesdropping on something incredibly intimate and not meant for him. He couldn't look away as he watched Dean smooth his face again, this time successfully.

 

“We’ll be alright Sammy.”

 

“How? No one else had health care.”

 

“I know. But you got all the shots and stuff and the paperwork is in. They won't know it’s lapsed until the next quarter, and by then I’ll get us enough money to pay the school for theirs. Okay?”

 

“But how are you gonna-”

 

“I’ll get two regular jobs Sammy, there were plenty without health care.”

 

“I could get one - “ Sam looked worried as hell, But Dean’s face was calm, reassuring, he gripped Sam’s shoulder and squeezed.

 

“No. Your job is grades, Okay? That’s the deal. I got this, Okay?”

 

Castiel watched, rapt, as Sam searched his big brother’s face and believed the lie he found there. “Okay.” Sam’s concern visibly lifted as Dean expertly pried it from him and added it to the weight Castiel could see in the corners of his eyes.

 

Castiel’s chest hurt.  He had pored over every possibility he could imagine for what Dean might be up to, but this was off the map. The dissonance he’d been trying to decipher the whole time  - how Dean could seem to genuinely care about people yet throw so many false notes at work - rearranged itself in his mind and the reality was so much greater than the sum of the parts. Dean _had_ been pulling something, that part he had been correct about - but the _why_ was so much more important than the _what_. Castiel had been approaching the puzzle backwards.

 

Dean was by all appearances single-handedly supporting a brother no more than five years his junior through college. A brother who believed in him completely, more like the faith of a child in a parent… _Oh._ _Christ_ , how long had Dean been both brother _and_ father to Sam?  Castiel felt a creeping shame for doubting Dean’s motives. He chided himself for mentally casting aspersions on Dean’s loyalty to the imaginary lover he had assigned to that second bed. He watched the brothers finishing their horrible beers and arguing over whether Sam should have gone to dinner with the study group - “It was an expensive place, Dean!”  “You have to fit in, Sam!” - and when the decision came to him he did not hesitate.

 

“I can help.”

 

Two brothers abruptly turned to face him, clearly having forgotten he was there.

 

“Help with what?” Dean asked, warily.

 

“I can help. I can train you on the software, Dean, so you can do the training for the … sexually assaulting client. If you want.  And… I could go with you. We used to send a software team member out with the sales team all the time before we downsized, and six locations adds complications to the customer portal. It would be completely reasonable for me to request to go with you.  Or, I can report them to HR and you won't get fired for refusing. ”

 

“Why?” asked Sam. “Why would you help us pull a con? You don’t owe us anything and it puts you at risk.”

 

Castiel directed his answer to Sam, but he was talking to Dean. Dean was the one he would need to convince.

 

“Your brother is a really good salesman Sam. He’s helping our company succeed and that’s good for my job security…” Dean scoffed and shook his head while Sam rolled his eyes, a united front of completely unconned con men. _Right._ Castiel sighed, smiled his surrender, and tried honesty instead.

 

“No, you’re right, I don’t care about the company that much, in all likelihood I could get another job at a moment’s notice. The truth is more personal. I was on my own when I was Sam’s age. My father threw me out of his house over certain… religious differences, and not one of my older brothers showed more than the slightest passing concern about my welfare after that. It was a very difficult time for me and I fervently wish I had family that cared for me the way Dean cares for you, Sam, but I wasn’t so fortunate. I survived, but in retrospect I now realize that was more luck than anything else. I am moved by your situation and I would like to help. To pay it forward, if you will, because Dean is the kind of man I wish my own brothers had been and I want to see him succeed.”

 

Castiel turned to look at Dean now, who was studying his face intently.

 

“Regardless of your decision, I will keep your secret, Dean, you have my word. You don’t have to worry about that.”

 

Castiel waited for the verdict, his eyes unfocused now, lost in the past, sad and sincere.

 

Sam and Dean had been watching him carefully, weighing his words against his face, and they now turned to each other to confer silently. An entire conversation passed between them without a word, ending with Sam looking insistently and pleadingly at Dean, who finally shrugged and nodded his assent.

 

“Okay,” said Dean, “Okay. And thank you Cas, we’ll find a way to make this up to you.”

 

Castiel did not try to say it was nothing, that they didn’t need to worry about it, to just please let him help. Instead he nodded his acceptance to Dean, acknowledging he understood the terms of the debt. He had gathered in the last few hours that Dean operated on an economy of favors, and in any case, a man like Dean would not be able to accept his help as charity, that much was clear.

 

“Well,” he offered, smiling now, “You’re already apparently saving my life from my non-existent car maintenance skills...”

 

“Is that Pimpmobile Diego’s boys have in pieces downstairs HIS?” Sam asked, delighted, as Dean started and smacked his own knee.

“RIGHT, let’s go check on her, c’mon, Cas!”

 

The boys were already out the door as Castiel got to his feet to trail after them, exclaiming in turn “What do you mean Pimpmobile?” affronted, and then “What do you mean IN PIECES???” in alarm.


	8. Zen and the Art of Pimpmobile Maintenance

Castiel found Sam and Dean admiring the carefully laid out deconstruction of something that looked important, arranged in exploded order on a blue tarp in front of his car reminiscent of the frogs he remembered dissecting in high school. A good-looking young man, brown, shirtless and heavily tattooed, was squatting on the tarp wiping various parts down with solvent and a rag and replacing them from where he had picked them up one by one.  Two other men were clearly culpable in the vivisection - one with only his backside visible, head down under the hood of Castiel’s car, yelling down to a pair of legs sticking out from under the car “Un poco a la derecha! Tacto suave!” There was some general swearing from under the car, followed by a vocalization that sounded like success, and then the unmistakable clank of a dropped wrench with additional swearing. The man formerly under the car emerged, victorious, clutching some sort of hose. He beamed up at Sam and Dean. “Blanquito! Gringo Muy Guapo! She is a beauty, isn’t she?!”

 

Sam and Dean grinned in amusement, two heads shaking in unison, and Dean reached down to clasp hands with the man, completely unconcerned that his hands were filthy with black grease.  “Diego! Thanks, man, I appreciate you and your boys taking a look,” Dean enthused, bracing himself and offering an assist to pull Diego to his feet, “but I thought we had a spark plug problem, what’s going on?”

 

“Who is this?” Diego asked, ineffectually wiping his hands on his jeans and grinning at Castiel’s horrified face, “is this the proud Papa?”  

 

“Where are your manners, Dean?” chided Sam. “Diego, this is our friend Castiel, from Dean’s work. Castiel, this is Diego, and his boys Miguel and Carlos,” he added, waving in turn towards the two men working on Castiel’s car, who nodded at Castiel as they were named.

 

Castiel offered his hand immediately, wiping the horror from his face and attempting to look friendly, but Diego grinned even wider as he took and shook Castiel’s hand enthusiastically, incidentally greasing him just as thoroughly as he had Dean. 

 

“Don’t worry mister Castiel, we’ll have her buttoned up and better than new, you’ll see, and a good thing you had us look, too, you should not have been driving her like this.” He looked ready to scold but Dean smoothly stepped in and ran interference, clapping Diego on the shoulder and grinning.

 

“We can’t all be experts like you, Diego, and Cas here is saving my ass at work, let’s cut him a little slack on his Old Lady, huh?”  He waggled an eyebrow towards the tarp and redirected Diego’s attention in this new direction. ”So, what’s the deal?” 

 

Diego’s impending disapproval of Castiel lifted at this news that he was helping with Dean’s work, and he now turned his attention to Dean to speak in neither Spanish nor English, but in a third language Castiel had no grasp of whatsoever: Automobile.

 

“Well, we checked the plugs of course and they were brand new, so of course I was thinking hotspots then but we scoped her and compression tested her, unless I’ve lost a step she’s not misfiring for that she looks good. We messed with her idle up and down, nothing, so we’re cleaning out her carburetor and looks like that vacuum hose was leaking, too. I have one that will work but it’s not her specs so replace it soon, Okay Dean?”

 

“Yessir,” Dean replied with an extremely sloppy two-fingered salute that actually made Castiel wince. “How long ‘til she’s purring?”

 

“Oh, couple hours, tops.”

 

“You rock, Diego, I owe you a big one.”  Dean turned to Castiel with a smile as Diego turned back to the task at hand, but Castiel’s face was dismayed. 

 

“What’s the matter, Cas? I’m sorry you’re stuck a little longer, I can make dinner if you’re hungry?” Dean searched Castiel’s face, but now Castiel looked both dismayed and embarrassed. Dean grasped Castiel gently by the elbow with his ungreased hand, steered him to the stairs with a gentle tug, glancing back for Sam to stay put. Sam nodded and set about making himself useful to Diego without a moment’s hesitation.

 

Dean waited until they were inside, shut the door, and waited, looking at Castiel expectantly. ”What’s up, Cas?  I’m sorry about the delay, man, do you have somewhere you need to be?”

 

Castiel’s eyes were downcast, this was clearly personal. “I can’t make it in time now, leaving that late with the traffic. I have… homework from my... counselor. Some new thing she’s trying. We’re all supposed to download some game and play it for an hour tonight together at seven.”

 

Dean waved his hand dismissively - “Of course you can. I can take you home right now and Sam and I can bring your car to you later tonight if you want, where do you live?”

 

“Page street.”  

 

“Easy, that’s like ten minutes - “

 

“Page street in San Francisco, Dean.”

 

“Oh. Shit.” The magnitude of exactly how far out of his way Castiel had gone to get him home safely abruptly sank in and Dean felt like a tool.  “Um, you didn’t have to do that Cas, I’m sorry, now I feel like a dick.”

 

“Don’t,” Castiel replied firmly. “I insisted. I can be difficult to refuse.” He smiled at Dean slyly, a mischievous grin that made his eyes crinkle in the corners and sent an answering ripple of delight dancing across Dean’s face. 

 

“Yeah, I bet,” Dean shot back, grinning back as good as he got and adding a ridiculous wink. The moment stretched for several seconds, smiling at each other like fools, then Dean had an inspiration. “Oh! You brought your laptop, why don’t you just download it and play it here? I can make us all dinner and you can have your Old Lady back just in time for traffic to die down?”

 

“You have internet here?” Castiel asked, trying not to sound too incredulous.

 

“Cable. Super fast ping speeds, too.”  Dean waggled his eyebrows at Castiel’s skeptical confusion. “We have ways, mister. C’mon, Sam can help if you aren’t sure how to… oh, right, uh, sorry, Cas. I forget you’re a nerd too.”

 

Castiel wasn’t offended. “No, I’ll gladly take the help, I’ve never heard of this game. Something about Steam and Counter-Strike.”

 

“No fucking way!” Dean exclaimed happily, ”Sam and I play that all the time!  We got you!” He popped out the door to yell over the rusty bannister “Sammy! Can you grab Cas’s laptop out of the car? Thanks!”

 

Dean crossed to the sink to wash the contact grease off his hands, “Do you eat meat Cas? I’ve only ever seen you eat vegetables but I don’t have too many of those laying around...”

 

“Yes, Dean, I eat meat,” Castiel answered distractedly, mostly worrying about what Dean was going to tell Sam.

 

Sam arrived with laptop slung over his shoulder, gingerly holding the strap with a clean rag. He tried to hand it to Castiel, who displayed his blackened hand with a grin and a shrug and went to wash his hands in the sink next to Dean, taking the laptop case from Sam only once his hands were clean. Sam followed suit, scrubbing his giant greasy hands clean while Dean rummaged in the fridge. Castiel was relieved to hear Dean offer Sam no details; asking only “Sam, Castiel needs to get a Steam account made and download Counter-Strike, he needs to join a specific server at seven, can you get him installed, maybe show him the ropes while I make food?”

 

“Hell yes I can!” Sam enthused, crossing to the kitchen table to rob a cable from a laptop sitting there, and gesturing for Castiel to haul out his machine. Castiel’s shoulders relaxed as Sam asked exactly zero follow-up questions. 

 

Sam had Castiel’s machine set up to start downloading the game in no time, robbed Dean’s ethernet cable so he could hook his laptop back up to log into his own account, and set about showing Castiel the ropes on his game account while Dean puttered in the kitchen.

 

Dean let the sounds of battle wash over him as he worked, smiling and humming quietly to himself.  “No no, duck down, wait for him to spawn, THEN take him out!” Sam instructed, and then “YES! You’re a NATURAL, CAS!” as Dean flipped bacon on a vintage electric griddle and drained it on paper towels, sliced onions and caramelized them in the bacon fat. Sam’s instructions grew further apart and his sounds of approval closer together as Dean fried white bread in the fat and set it aside on plates, formed thick square hamburger patties and fried them. Sam hooted encouragement at Castiel in the background as Dean arranged patties on the bread with cheese and bacon and onion, refried them sandwiched inside the crisp bread.  He plated three thick patty melts with a generous helping of potato chips on the side, arranged a pickle wedge next to each sandwich carefully - no, not a pickle so much as a triumphant triangular  pièce de resistance - and carried two over to the table to set beside Sam and Castiel, respectively, just as Castiel groaned in defeat and Sam yelled “Aww man, I thought you had that guy!”

 

Castiel pulled off the headset to stare at Dean’s glorious masterpiece in disbelief.  “What is this?” he asked incredulously, as Dean returned to the table with his plate in one hand and somehow three beer bottle necks successfully gripped in his other, the opener between his teeth.  

 

“Patty melt!” Sam answered completely unintelligibly around a mouthful of chips, licking his fingers where the sandwich had been too hot to pick up and had burnt him.  Sam moved his laptop to the floor and Dean seamlessly set his plate down where it had been a millisecond before, set the beers down beside it, and dragged the coffee table over to sit on it at the kitchen table, both chairs being occupied. 

 

“Patty melt,” Dean offered shyly, as Castiel stared at it in wonder.  Dean pried open the beers, handing them out in turn and then reached into his back pocket to slap a pile of paper napkins emblazoned with yellow arches down in the center of the table. “We’ll need these.”

 

Castiel thought about it but he hadn’t had anything but fish or fowl in months. Nothing this gloriously decadent had passed his lips in possibly years, and he popped a chip in his mouth and chewed slowly while trying to figure out how to pick the thing up. He glanced at Sam, who now had both hands wrapped around his and was leaning forward over the plate to let the grease drip down, and then at Dean, who was grinning at his indecision proudly, but with something else, too. A hint of shyness, almost.  

 

“This looks unbelievably delicious Dean,” Castiel gushed, “and it smells divine.”  He picked it up as Sam had, carefully pushing the pickle to the side and leaning forward over the plate as grease dripped out the back end and onto the chips below. He bit into it and actually groaned in pleasure, the flavors bursting on his tongue the most delicious thing he could ever remember eating. Castiel was too enraptured with his sandwich to notice Sam grinning at him over his, or to notice the tips of Dean’s ears and his cheeks turning pink, a soft smile playing over his lips as he finally reached for his own sandwich. There was no sound but muffled chewing and Castiel very quietly moaning for some time. When he finished and finally looked up, Sam and Dean were already done eating, watching him in stereo, and he colored in embarrassment.

 

“Was that good for you, Cas?” Sam asked, grinning, as Dean covered his mouth with the back of his hand. Dean’s eyes gave away the huge grin his hand was trying to disguise.

 

“Yes.” Castiel answered emphatically, grinning back.  “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten anything so decadent in my life.”

 

“Shit, man, you should see what Dean can do in a real kitchen!” Sam declared proudly. “The oven’s busted in this dump and the stove only has one burner that even turns on. We’ve got like a toaster and a hotplate here and Dean still makes damn good food.” Sam beamed at his big brother, who preened under the praise.  

 

“I do alright.” Dean said modestly, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

 

Castiel stared at him in disbelief. “Alright?  _ Alright _ ? This was magical Dean. I am going to have to run five extra miles tomorrow to pay for it, but I will run them gladly, daydreaming about this meal the entire time. Thank you.”  

 

Dean was speechless, unable to process this much approval. He stared at Castiel without blinking, as Sam’s grin grew impossibly wider watching the two of them.

 

“I have a full kitchen I have never cooked a meal in,” Castiel declared. 

 

The spell holding Dean’s face captive broke into a delighted smile, and he waggled his eyebrows at Castiel suggestively.

 

“You propositioning me, Cas?”

 

Castiel’s answering smile was wide and bright.

 

“I think I am.” 

 

“Mac and cheeeeese,” Sam breathed, as Dean simultaneously intoned “apple piiiiie”.

 

The brothers grinned at each other, their choices not in any sort of competition.

  
“Both!” they agreed in unison, turning to Castiel with their ruling.

 

Castiel raised his hands high in surrender. “Whatever you want to make. I’ll buy the ingredients and have them ready whenever you say the word.”

 

“You don’t have to -” Dean started, but Sam cut him off. “Yes, he does. He should be so lucky as to get to have your mac and cheese AND apple pie on the same day, Dean.”

 

Castiel nodded. “I insist,” he agreed emphatically, grinning at Dean. “I am still fully aware I am getting the better end of this deal.”

 

“Alright,” Dean agreed. “Alright.  Oh, shit! It’s almost seven, is Castiel’s machine done installing the game?”

 

There was a rapid scramble of washing hands and moving plates and yes, Castiel’s machine had finished installing the game. Sam walked him through connecting to the server he had written down on a post-it note on the laptop, grabbed the headset from his machine for Castiel to play, and the brothers settled in to watch.

 

Castiel’s gameplay improved exponentially over the course of his assigned hour, so much so that at eight o’clock when he logged off the assigned server Sam begged him to play a little longer so that they could go head-to-head. Castiel acquiesced, pleased to be asked, and between the three of them, with two ethernet cables and headsets between them, they easily fell into “dead man out” rules, the odd man out watching the game until someone got fragged and then claiming their seat. They started with Castiel getting a two-death handicap for each of their one since he was a noob, but he took to the game so readily this was soon a ridiculously unfair advantage and was summarily scrapped.

 

In what felt like just a few minutes, as Castiel’s health bar  _ finally _ succumbed after a ridiculously long stretch, Castiel glanced at the starburst clock over the couch and realized it was past midnight.  Dean, currently the odd man out, followed his gaze and exclaimed “Oh, Shit. You’ve got a bit of a drive to get home, Cas.” 

 

“Yes I do,” Castiel agreed, “but this has been lovely. I could watch you boys die by my hand all night.”

 

“HEY!” Sam spluttered, “You died plenty!”

 

“The numbers don’t lie, Sam.” Castiel grinned wickedly, pointing at the stats screen on his laptop. He was, in fact, in the lead.

 

“Sonuvabitch” breathed Dean. “Alright, we are definitely not gonna take it so easy on you next time.”

 

“Bring it, losers.” Castiel growled, “I shall enjoy the lamentation of your women and children.” He beamed at Dean as he yawned and stretched. Sam and Dean shared delighted smiles as Castiel stood up and popped his back, powered down his laptop and started coiling his power cord and mouse into his laptop bag.  Shit, this alliance was going to be  _ fun _ .

 

***

 

Castiel’s Old Lady was parked outside, her keys in the ignition, and when Cas sank into the driver’s seat and started her up she purred like a kitten.  “Awww yessss” breathed Dean, leaning in the driver’s side window, “Those boys did her  _ right _ .”

 

Castiel smiled softly, running his hands around the steering wheel.  “That does sound smoother,” he admitted, “How do I repay Diego and his boys?” 

 

“You don’t,” Dean answered firmly. “That debt is mine. Consider it my downpayment on this work stuff.” He fidgeted in the window. “How’re we gonna deal with that?”

 

Castiel shrugged up at Dean. “Depends. How do you want to deal with the pervert client?”

 

Dean stared at his thumbs for a few moments, chewing his lip, then lifted his face to meet Castiel’s eyes. “Will you… can you go with me?”

 

“Yes, I absolutely will.” Castiel assured Dean, his face completely earnest. Dean’s shoulders unconsciously straightened a little, his burden a fraction lighter.

 

“Thank you Cas. Seriously.”  

 

“He will  _ not _ touch you again.” Castiel’s voice was low and clipped, his fury white hot, and Dean flinched. Castiel took a deep breath, relaxed with visible effort, and apologized. “I’m sorry, Dean. I… it’s not my place to protect you. I apologize.”

 

Dean stared at Castiel for a long moment, his face inscrutable, before clearing his throat and softly whispering “Thank you, Cas.” 

 

Castiel nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and the moment stretched between them, delicate and fragile.

 

After several seconds Castiel cleared his throat and the gossamer thread between them snapped, floating away into the night. “I’ll need to sleep and eat and go for a run, is around one pm okay tomorrow? I’ll come back here and we can run through the demo a bunch of times, see where you’re… having trouble?”  Castiel narrowly avoided saying “Screwing me?” but his face said it anyway and Dean smiled at him and punched him lightly in the arm through the car window.

 

“That works,” Dean nodded. “I should be able to get a vacuum hose for your Old Lady by then too. Seventy-nine, right?” Castiel smiled and nodded, petting the woodgrain of the dash fondly and Dean smiled just to witness Castiel’s affection for his abomination. 

 

Dean extricated himself from the car window where he was leaning on his forearms, rapped on the side of Castiel’s beast with his knuckles. “See you tomorrow?”

 

“Yes. See you tomorrow Dean.”  Castiel smiled at Dean as he shifted into reverse, turned, and pulled into the street.

 

Dean watched him go with a pensive look on his face, staring after the Lincoln for a long moment after Castiel had turned out of the horseshoe before he spun on his heels and took the crumbling stairs back up to his apartment two at a time, lost in thought.


	9. Full Court Press

When Castiel pulled into the horseshoe on Saturday, the noonday sun baking the air above the concrete and asphalt into shimmering waves of heat, he was surprised to discover half of it was now a basketball court. Two full teams were battling for supremacy on the court with a small crowd of onlookers, mostly women and children, cheering and shouting. Castiel pulled up in the first available slot that wasn’t part of the de facto game court and joined the crowd of onlookers, coming to stand next to Alejandro, who was icing a swollen knee. Alex grinned wildly at Castiel and then returned to hollering, “Foul him, Manuel! Kick Blanquito’s asssssss!”

 

Sam and Manuel were facing each other down, Sam pouring sweat into his sleeveless tee, his hair soaking wet and dripping down his forehead. Sam was dribbling slowly in place, intent on finding a way past the wall of glistening, tattooed muscles and bright white grimace blocking his way. Sam and Manuel were several orders of magnitude larger than the next tallest person on the court, who happened to be Dean, apparently playing for team Skins. Dean’s freckled back rippled and shone with sweat as he grinned fiercely and guarded Diego from interfering with Big Man. Sam and Dean were conspicuously the only white men in the horseshoe, adrift in a sea of rippling brown muscles, half the men shirtless and dripping, the other half sweating into their tank tops and muscle tees. Castiel had eyes only for Dean, enchanted by the grace with which Dean moved over the court.

 

Dean felt the familiar weight of Castiel’s glance as it landed and looked his way with a smile and a wave. In that half-second of distraction Diego managed to break free of Dean’s cover, hollering, “Sam! I’m open!”  Sam made the pass to Diego in a flash, and Dean was left scrambling to catch up as everyone headed up the court en masse, Dean leaping heroically out in front of Diego to block his shot and earning a bodyslam that dropped him to the asphalt for his trouble. Dean’s interference caused Diego’s jump shot to hit the rim but it went into the basket anyway, to a chorus of various cheers and groans. Dean groaned as Diego extended him a hand to haul him to his feet, and the entire court looked over to measure up the gringo who had distracted Dean from more important pursuits. Castiel threw his hands up in apology as Dean laughed and apologized.

 

“Not his fault guys, that was on me. That’s my friend Castiel. Castiel, everyone.”

 

Castiel shrugged sheepishly, flushing to be the subject of this impromptu show-and-tell, all eyes in the courtyard turning to size him up. Some of the players grabbed water or gatorade from the shade under the upper balcony while children came over to gawk up at the novelty of this new white man allowed in their midst, José proudly declaring he already knew Cast-ee-yell.

 

Alejandro had been watching Castiel the whole time, and he caught his eye now, winked, and cried out loudly: “I think Cast-ee-yell should show us what he’s got, right guys? Only fair if he’s going to distract our star Gringo Muy Guapo!”  

 

There was a chorus of hoots and hollers and Dean shook his head, grinning saucily at Alex and rolling his eyes at the nickname he could not escape, then looking at Castiel. His face implored Castiel to say yes, his eyes wide and urgent despite the smile still on his lips. This was important. Castiel sighed, gave Dean the slightest nod, then answered loudly enough to carry.

 

“I have my gym bag in my car, can you give me a minute to change before you make me kick all of your asses?”

  
This was apparently exactly the right thing to say. There were delighted whoops and Dean’s face broke into a radiant smile as he bounded over to accompany Castiel to his car, yelling “We’ll be right back!” They were up the crumbling steps and in and out of Dean’s place in under three minutes, Castiel now wearing gym shorts and a sleeveless jogging tee instead of jeans and the button-down he’d been wearing moments before.

 

“Uh-uh,” Alejandro scolded, grinning absolutely devilishly, “Team Skins, creo.”

 

“Only fair,” he added, giving Castiel a good-humored but still quite lecherous glance that swept up and down his body in slow-motion. Dean bristled but Castiel laughed, he liked Alex very much already, and _this_ was a language he was fluent in, one that didn't change substantially over time no matter how rusty he got. Alex had seen him watching Dean and said nothing, beyond this brazen blackmail of course. It was a fair cop, and well played to boot. Castiel shucked his tee without argument, balling it up to toss it onto the hood of his car, and quirked Alejandro an eyebrow that said, in no uncertain terms, “Like what you see?”

 

Alejandro’s eyes raked over Castiel’s bare chest, lingered along the line of his obliques, followed the curve of them down to dip south, then slowly traveled back up to Castiel’s face. He raised both eyebrows appreciatively, yes, yes he did. Castiel snorted slightly in response, smirking. Dean was standing beside him so Castiel missed Dean’s glance following Alejandro’s, Dean’s subsequent fleeting frown, but Alex read it loud and clear. He threw his hands up in surrender, grinning.

 

“Your friend is also muy guapo, Dean, but I get it, I get it, no flirting, he’s all yours.”

 

Dean made a sound of protest, shaking his head in exasperation as he brushed past Alejandro to rejoin his team on the court, but Alex’s attention was on Castiel, an understanding passing between them. Castiel shook his head gently in the negative, no, there was nothing like that between him and Dean. Alex shook his head in disbelief, shrugged and murmured, “If you say so, Cariño.” He waved Castiel onto the court, both Dean and Castiel now playing for team Skins. Big Man came offsides as Castiel subbed in, to watch from the sidelines, grinning like a wolf.

 

Castiel, it turned out, was incredible. He was fast, he was agile, and he could sink a shot from practically mid-court. The third time Castiel dribbled low and feinted around Sam to pass to Dean for a successful layup Sam threw up his hands in exasperation and cried foul. “We have to split those assholes up!” Sam hollered in frustration, “Pit them against each other! I’m out!”  There was general frustrated agreement as Sam repaired to his gatorade in disgust, throwing Castiel’s shirt to him in a wad. Castiel looked to Big Man, who was watching from the shade of the concrete balcony. Big Man nodded his permission for this changeup and strode back onto the court to replace Castiel on team Skins while Castiel dragged his erstwhile clean shirt down over his dripping torso.

 

The game continued much more evenly after that, Castiel and Dean falling into a furious rivalry and everyone else just getting out of their way. Dean was taller, but they were evenly matched in strength and mass, and Castiel was faster. The first couple times Dean fouled Castiel no one said a word, but the third time Dean fouled Cas - grabbing at his forearm and holding on to ruin his shot - was so egregious that Big Man called it in disgust. Castiel easily sank both his penalty shots, winning the game for team Shirts.

 

There were cheers and simultaneous groans of disgust and the game split up, sweat-soaked men wandering over to clap Castiel on the back, or shake his hand, or give Dean a piece of their minds for the foul that cost the game. Castiel was gracious and friendly and Dean was grumpy to have lost but simultaneously proud and impressed by Castiel, all of which Castiel quietly observed and tucked away to treasure forever. Dean and Castiel eventually repaired upstairs to stand in the kitchenette, trying medium successfully not to drip on anything while they waited for Sam to get out of the shower.

 

“Aww, shit,” Dean exclaimed, “We don’t have any guest towels Cas, I’m sorry. Dish towels okay?” He shuffled his feet dejectedly. Castiel reached into his gym bag, grinning triumphantly, to produce his own towel with a flourish. “BYOT,” he intoned, snapping his towel towards Dean, carefully stopping the snap several inches short of actually connecting with Dean’s dripping anything.

 

Dean backpedaled a couple inches, laughing and protesting, arms up to shield his chest. “Unarmed, unarmed!” he hollered, and Castiel stood down, leaning against the table with his towel in his fist.

 

“Uh, thanks for playing Cas, it’s kind of a big deal around here and I’ve never seen you play anything before last night - not pool anyway - wasn’t sure if you… “ Dean trailed off as Castiel quirked a brow at him and finished lamely “uh, could?”

 

Castiel raised both brows at that and answered calmly, “I have a number of skills Dean, most of which you remain completely ignorant of in terms of both scope and prowess...” Dean’s eyes flared wide as Castiel left the implication hanging in the air for a second, then he smiled wickedly and continued, “but if you need your ass handed to you, I assure you I am always prepared to deliver.”

 

Dean’s face broke into delighted laughter just as Sam came out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, to look at the two of them and demand, “What’s so funny?”

 

“Oh my _god_ Sam,” Dean laughed, shaking his head, “Cas’s trash talk is on _point_.”

 

Castiel looked smug as Sam crossed to the bureau to haul out underwear, averted his eyes just in time as Sam’s towel dropped to the floor.

 

“He’s pretty good at trash talk,” Sam allowed, “and so far he can back it up, which is the real kicker. Where’d you learn to play like that, Cas?”

 

“Around,” Cas retorted brusquely. “I know, I probably make you scream and cry, but I _am_ experienced, Sam.” He waggled his eyebrows in Sam’s direction, still not looking in case Sam was naked, but he looked to Dean for help, his eyes urgent.

 

“Har har,” Dean cut in, before Sam could ask for more details. “I doubt Jimi Hendrix meant basketball. Go shower Cas, the sweat in my ass crack is starting to dry up and itch.”

 

“Gross!” Sam exclaimed, but the distraction worked. Castiel headed into the bathroom with his towel and gym bag in tow and Sam did not have a chance to pry further.

 

“Holy Shit,” Sam observed to Dean quietly once they heard the shower turn on, “Cas was _amazing_.”

 

“Right? Keep your voice down, he’s smug enough already.”

 

“I HEARD THAT!” Cas hollered from inside the bathroom. Sam and Dean shared incredulous, delighted smiles, and Sam leaned in super close to whisper to Dean, “I really like him, Dean.”

 

“Me too, Sammy,” Dean whispered back, grinning softly, “Me too.”

  


***

  


By the third time going through the demo on his laptop under Castiel’s watchful eye Dean wanted to pull his hair out.

 

“Fuuuck, Cas,” he groaned,  “I don’t know how you didn’t murder me, I’ve been fucking this up soooo bad.”

 

“I don’t know either,” Castiel admitted,  “but you must be doing something right because you’re selling this like the last Tickle Me Elmo on Christmas Eve.”

 

“Well,” Dean deadpanned, “I let them do all the talking. Then I say ‘yes’ a lot.”

 

He grinned and held up his hands in surrender as Castiel’s expression turned to actual murder.

 

“I’m kidding, Cas,” he soothed. “But it’s different with a client.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, sheepish. “I guess I like, turn on the charm more.”

 

“I know you do,” Castiel sighed, his brow still menacing, but the thunderstorm averted, at least for now. “I’ve seen your wiles in action.”

 

Dean stared at him, nonplussed. “I don’t think you have, Cas. I’ve never tried to use my... let’s say my ‘powers of persuasion’ on you. Or anywhere around you.”

 

“I watched you work the room the first day I met you, Dean.” Castiel was firm, dismissive.

 

Dean shook his head slowly.  “No.” he said. “Those were my new coworkers, people I expected to see again. I was just being friendly.”  He shrugged, looked a little hurt. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”

 

Castiel stared at Dean, his face transitioning from vaguely annoyed to disconcerted. “I’m sorry Dean, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Do you mean to say that you weren’t laying on a thick layer of intentional charm when Zachariah brought you out to parade you like his prize racehorse and you went around the room shaking hands with everyone?”

 

Dean looked crestfallen. “I mean, yes, I know I’m running a con Cas, but it wasn’t like that. I was just trying to be friendly.”

 

Sam, sprawled on the couch with a textbook, finally looked up from his notes to back up his brother.  “That’s just how he is, Cas. Dean just... likes people. Dad used to get mad because Dean would want to help them out for free, until Dad figured out to send Dean in to soften them up and then take over in the middle.”

 

Dean did not look pleased with this backup. “Shut up, Sam,” he muttered.

 

“No,” Sam retorted. “Cas is in this with us now and he needs to know what he’s working with.” He returned his attention to Castiel, who was musing, rapt.

 

“Dean is just friendly. He likes meeting new people. And I _promise_ you Cas, you have not seen him work. Not yet.” Sam grinned proudly at Dean, who harrumphed but also sat up a little straighter under the praise, mollified.

 

“Alright.” Castiel said. “Then I apologize Dean, and further, I look forward to seeing you use your powers. For chaotic good.” he added, winning a real smile from Dean.

 

The knock at the door startled Castiel but neither Sam nor Dean even looked up. Dean just hollered “It’s open!” and José shoved the door open to breathlessly deliver a message.

 

“Dean, Matías is at work and Mrs Rodrìguez says the trap caught una rata grande and she’s standing on a chair screaming!”

 

“I got this one!” Dean exclaimed, jumping up, clearly delighted for a homework break. “Wanna come, Cas?”

 

Castiel looked dubious but he stood up, stretched, and followed Dean and José out the door.

 

***

 

An hour later a rat was dead and in a dumpster, a sink was unclogged, a refrigerator was moved and then moved back after a rat nest was cleaned out from behind it, a burnt out light bulb replaced in a high fixture, and a diminutive gray-haired woman who spoke not a word of English was clasping Dean and Castiel’s hands goodbye. She pressed a greasy paper bag of something hot that smelled amazing from her tiny stovetop into Dean’s hands. He accepted the payment with a smile, bent down to kiss Mrs Rodrìguez’ cheeks and have his cheeks kissed in return, and they made their escape.  

 

Sam looked up expectantly as they came in, his giant hands outstretched.  

 

“You can have what’s left,” Dean declared, “after the working men take their share.” He grinned and tipped a couple empanadas out of the bag into a napkin before handing the bag and a stack of napkins to Castiel, who was leaning over the tiny kitchen sink washing his hands. Castiel took one of each and passed the rest along to Sam’s grabby fingers.

 

After he bit into his, Castiel immediately regretted not taking two, but the ones that were left were rapidly disappearing into Sam. Castiel ate with his eyes closed, careful not to make a sound after the embarrassment from last night’s patty melt. He opened his eyes to lick his fingers and sigh. Dean smiled and shook his head, cracked his second pastry in half to share it with Cas, and the room was completely silent except for the sound of chewing until all the empanadas were devoured.

 

“You should have washed your hands.” Castiel observed.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I used napkins.” Dean replied, crumpling his up as he spoke.

 

“Dead rat.” Castiel countered.

 

“RIGHT.”  Dean jumped up to wash his hands, Castiel grinning and following suit to get the delicious grease off his fingers.

 

“Should we order something for dinner?” Castiel asked. “My treat. We need to study and you can’t cook and study Dean… “ he mused almost to himself “I could eat ten more of those... “ then added, conversationally, “Pizza? Got a phone book?”

 

Sam was washing his hands at the sink and Dean had stolen his spot on most of the couch. Dean tilted his head towards the fridge, asked Sam, “What’s today, Saturday? Who delivers tonight?”

 

Sam glanced over at a piece of notepaper stuck to the refrigerator with a dirty magnet the approximate size and shape of a bagel. “Looks like a pizza run at six, which we’ve missed the call-in for, another at eleven or one am, Burritos at nine from Juan’s place - Oh, Hey, Maria’s doing tamales at seven if we call by six, we haven’t done that in a couple weeks?” He looked hopefully towards Castiel and Dean, the question hanging in the air.

 

Castiel’s head tilted in puzzlement. “You don’t have a phone book?”

 

Dean shook his head and explained, “Cas, you think anyone delivers here? That doesn’t live here?”

 

Castiel still looked confused, so Sam chimed in. “Cas, this whole neighborhood is off-limits for anyone that doesn’t have Big Man’s permission to do business here. It’s complicated as hell to keep track of who is working what nights so José draws us a little cheat-sheet each week of who is doing food deliveries from their jobs when and we basically pay him allowance to keep us in the know.  I think his Mom or his brother helps but he won’t admit it and Felipe hasn’t demanded a cut, at least not that we know of.”

 

“That kid is a lazy man’s lifesaver,” Dean added, “definitely worth his weight in quarters and he knows it.”  He grinned and looked at Cas hopefully, “Tamales? Maria is José and Felipe’s mom and she’s a fantastic cook. We try to order from her at least every other weekend and it’s been ages. She makes them at home,” he added, “if she hasn’t already sold out.” Dean sounded worried, now that the idea of tamales had caught his fancy, that he wouldn’t get to have any.

 

“Sure, that sounds great.” Castiel agreed, distracted by the dawning realization of exactly how dangerous a place this must be, and how the protection offered to him by Manuel because he was Dean’s guest was even more important than he had understood.

 

Sam was already texting in their order, perched backwards in a kitchen chair facing the couch. “Just say we’ll take any sides she’s making, enough for three.” Dean instructed, and Sam furiously thumb typed that in as well.  He stared at his phone, willing it to buzz, until a response came in.

 

Sam barked a laugh and reported, “José says he told his Mom we’d be ordering because you always want her food after Mrs Rodrìguez feeds you anything, and that he already told her to make extra for Cas.”

 

“Holy Shit, that kid is getting a fat tip!” Dean exclaimed, both delighted and relieved. “Wait, am I that predictable?”

 

“Yes,” Sam answered, but he relented at Dean’s unhappy scowl. “Don’t feel bad Dean, those empanadas are like crack and only a giant pile of tamales kills the urge. ”

 

“Absolutely,” Castiel agreed. “I have an intense desire to eat at least a dozen more of those.”

 

“RIGHT?” exclaimed Dean. They smiled at each other, a question working its way across Castiel’s face. Dean waited, watching Castiel’s face expectantly.

 

“How can you guys live here?” Castiel finally asked.

 

“That was a series of happy accidents,” Dean explained. “We were looking for somewhere cheap and driving around looking for vacancy signs like idiots - ”

 

“We aren’t used to cities,” Sam interjected, “Dad didn’t like them, he mostly kept us to small towns. We didn’t realize it was more like a war zone.”

 

“- Yeah, well,” Dean continued, “in retrospect I feel like we should have known you can’t just drive around bad neighborhoods. Anyway, we saw some kids jumping some other kids in front of a convenience store but it seemed really one-sided, something like half a dozen bigger kids on two smaller ones. We pulled up, and Sam was already out of Baby before we stopped rolling, asking if our cousins needed a ride home. It was enough of a distraction to stop the immediate fighting but some cops pulled up before José and his brother had decided whether to get into the car with a couple of gringos or take the beating - “

 

“ - Nobody ever wins when the cops show up Cas,” Sam cut in, “that’s just the golden rule. The other kids scattered before the cops got out of their car but José and his brother Felipe were trapped - they were standing next to us. If they followed the other kids they’d get the beating - and it turned out lose their Mom’s grocery money for the week - and the cops had already seen them up close, so those boys took a chance on us. You should have seen Dean though, he’s _such_ a sweet-talker.”

 

Sam beamed at Dean and Dean waved a hand modestly as Sam continued.  “Dean convinced the cops José and his brother Felipe were our little cousins on our Mom’s side, we’d come down to the big city to visit family - just found a bunch of kids bullying our cousins into shoplifting them some candy bars. Dean made it sound like some sort of lemonade stand fourth-of-july apple pie shit Cas, the cops just didn’t want to rain on his small-town backwoods fool parade.”  Sam grinned proudly at Dean, who accepted this praise as well-deserved, grinning back and smirking at Castiel proudly.

 

Sam continued,  “Dean made a show of going inside, giving the boys ten bucks to pay the cashier for the shoplifted candy that those ‘city bully kids made them take,’ made them apologize, and the kids and the cashier totally rolled with it. A local, as it turned out. Of course the cashier just pocketed that ten - “

 

“- and those other kids were actually serious trouble,” Dean finished, “out of their territory but enough of them to get away with it if they pulled a quick raiding party. They didn’t need a reason to kick José and Felipe’s asses beyond rolling them for whatever cash they had on them. Anyway, we convinced the cops to let it slide with a warning, the other kids were gone and ours said they didn’t know them. The cops said we could give our cousins a ride home but they’d follow to make sure us country boys got there okay -”

 

Sam shook his head, “I think the cops were still skeptical but José and Felipe are smart kids and rolled with it a hundred percent. They hopped right in, whispered to us from the back seat how to get to their place which wasn’t even two blocks away. We basically had time to give them our names before we were rolling up into the parking lot with cops behind us. José and Felipe ran up to Big Man and Alejandro as fast as they could, threw their arms around Big Man, told him real loud that uncle Sam and uncle Dean were here for a visit and good thing we found them on our way because some big kids made them shoplift candy.”

 

Dean grinned and shook his head, cutting in to comment,  “Those kids should have won an Emmy or something. Big Man too, but damn, those kids blew me away.”

 

Sam nodded in agreement. “They practically had me convinced.”

 

Castiel’s attention had flipped from brother to brother as they recounted their tale, completely fascinated. Now as they both paused to retroactively admire José and Felipe’s acting chops, he waited several beats for the story to continue. When it dawned on him they were finished, he threw his hands out, palms up, and demanded satisfaction. “AND?” he asked.

 

“Oh, right,” Dean said, “It was pretty much a done deal after that. The cops were satisfied and left. Big Man waited until they were gone, listened to José and Felipe’s explanation. Alex made a couple quick phone calls in Spanish, couldn’t catch it but it did not sound good. Big Man sent José and Felipe home.  Shook our hands, thanked us for helping his boys, asked us what con we were in town to run.“

 

Dean shared a look with Sam, both their eyes wide, recalling their shared terror.

 

Dean looked at Castiel, his eyes still wide with the recollection. “I told him.”

 

Sam nodded, echoed solemnly, “He told him.”

 

Sam picked up the thread after a beat. “Manuel listened to Dean spill our life story and looked at him reaaally carefully, then he looked at me - I’ve never felt more naked in my life Cas, not even when I was actually naked - and I guess he decided to let us live.”

 

Dean nodded. “He said they had a vacancy upstairs if we needed a place to stay, winked and said any cousins of José and Felipe - even gringo ones - were family. Luckiest break of our lives, really - you know, since we didn’t get ourselves murdered -  the place is cheap and I don’t think we’d have pulled it off without the help. Folks here really took us in.”

 

Sam nodded solemnly. “It was a really lucky break. From Dean always jumping in to help people without even thinking about it.”  He smiled at Dean proudly.

 

Dean grinned back. “You do it too, bitch. I’ve seen you.”

 

Sam mock pouted, did his best after school special impression. “I learned it from YOU, jerk!”

 

Castiel was floored, watching them. He felt sympathetic nerves over imagining meeting Big Man alone, holding his fate in those giant hands, relief that everything had turned out so well, and a small, unnameable trickle of something wistful. He wondered, for the briefest moment, where his brothers were, before turning his thoughts immediately away, scowling angrily.

 

“You okay Cas?” asked Sam. Castiel swallowed the hint of longing curling around his consciousness, clamped it down hard. His family had abandoned him for being different and he didn’t need them. Besides, he was making new friends right now, and that felt good. He smiled at Sam. “I’m okay Sam,” he answered, “thanks.”  Sam was still looking at him, his brow furrowed with empathy, and Castiel found himself adding, in a small voice he barely recognized, “I still miss my family sometimes, even though I hate them.” He blinked away some sand or something that was suddenly in his eyes and found himself in a casual sidearm bro-sandwich, Sam’s arm around his shoulders on one side and Dean leaning into his other side. The brothers were silent while Castiel hid his face in his hands and gulped air. Only when he had collected himself enough to uncover his face did they step away, Sam smoothly reclaiming his spot on the couch to loud protest noises from Dean, which lightened the mood, got a laugh from Castiel, and no more was said about the spectre of loss as it hung, brooding, in the air above them.

 

Dean made it through two more presentations on the software demo, improving steadily under Castiel’s tutelage, before two boys hollered outside the door, kicking rather than knocking, the delivery apparently requiring both sets of hands. Felipe could have been José’s twin they looked so much alike, except that he was maybe four inches taller, clearly several years older. The children stood, arms outstretched, as Sam and Dean lifted the handles of motley plastic grocery bags containing foil-covered plates of food from their arms one by one and set them on the table. The boys were in a hurry - several deliveries to make after this they explained breathlessly - but they accepted cash and large tips from Castiel and Felipe shook Castiel’s hand gravely before they disappeared out the door in a flurry of curls. Castiel was charmed, but rapidly distracted by the delicious aromas assaulting him, cartoon style, from the kitchen table.

 

Plates and forks were produced, the food laid out on the table. Dean slapped Sam’s hand away when he tried to nibble before it was laid out, and their bickering -  

“We have a _guest_ Sam, would you have some manners!”

“He’s not a guest Dean he’s _in it_ with us, that makes him one of us!”

“Okay fine but could you _pretend_ we have manners for ONE MINUTE?”

“Alright, ALRIGHT” -

filled Castiel with a soothing sense of belonging. He accepted a plate solemnly, filled it shamelessly, and when he repaired to the couch because there were only two kitchen chairs, he was secretly touched that Sam and Dean followed him and sat down on either side of him, their shoulders brushing his somehow a comfort.

 

Castiel ate slowly, savoring, and ended the evening leaning back in companionable marveling with Dean, the two of them watching Sam eat as a spectator sport. Sam’s capacity to refill his plate until the food was gone and he was mournfully nosing around the empty bags easily outstripped both Castiel and Dean three to one on volume alone, speed and landing not even considered in the scoring.  

 

Castiel drove home in his Old Lady Lincoln, purring like a kitten now because of the kind hands in the dangerous neighborhood where Sam and Dean had been adopted as family, to claim him in turn as one of them. Not a guest. _In it_ with them. “That makes him one of us,” Sam had said. He decided he didn’t care what it cost, probably his job and his stock options if he were found out, but he wanted this feeling of belonging somewhere more than he’d realized... and there was that sand in his eye again, even inside his car. He brushed it away and drove the rest of the way home in silence, the lights on the highway blurry, his chest battling it out with his stomach over which felt closer to bursting and spilling its contents over the varnished wood grain of his gently glowing dashboard.

 

 


	10. The Constant Gardener

On Sunday, Castiel woke up with a start to realize it was an hour later than he had intended to sleep in. Ugh, his body was not loving these late nights. He sighed, reached into the nightstand for supplies to take care of his body’s morning demands so he could get his day started and get out for a run. He needed to add several miles to his morning loop after what he’d eaten yesterday and he wasn’t sure if he was expected back out at Dean’s place today or if the boys were coming here to cook a meal, and not knowing was stressful.

 

Castiel emptied his mind to grip his cock in his slickened fist, allowing himself to picture one of the new guys at the gym using the lat pulldown machine the other day. The muscles in his back had been lovely, and Castiel watched them ripple in his mind’s eye, spilled his pleasure over his hand with a soft sigh. Nothing earth-shattering but it got the job done; his usual, of late. He wiped up, padded to the bathroom to shower and shave and deal with the rest of his morning ablutions, wandered down to the kitchen in jogging shorts and sneakers, jogging tee slung over his shoulder, to make a protein smoothie and check his phone for messages.

 

His phone buzzed on the table where he’d set it not long after coming downstairs, and he picked it up to glance at the text as he sipped his shake.

 

_“We figure we’ll drive out to you today if that’s okay. Want me to cook tonight?”_

 

Castiel smiled softly, thumbed in his reply.

 

_“Sounds great. I should be back from my run by noon or so. Text me a grocery list by then?  I’ll need to shop so 2pm arrival works. You may park me in.”_

 

He thought for a moment and also texted his address, just as Dean’s reply came in.

 

_“You got it. Address?”_

 

He sent a smiley face, got one back and grinned as he rinsed his glass and set it in the sink, pocketed his keys, shoved a twenty in his sock. His phone was bulky and had a tendency to tug his shorts down, so he left it on his kitchen table as he pulled on his shirt and headed out to work off at least _some_ of the last two days' worth of decadence before letting Dean cook for him again.

 

***

 

Dean pulled Baby off at the correct exit as Sam navigated, Sam’s laptop open in his lap to the directions on the mapquest page he’d saved offline before unplugging from the internet.

 

“Geez, Dean, look at these houses.” Sam’s eyes were wide, they’d clearly pulled off in a pretty fancy neighborhood. Dean followed Sam’s directions as they maneuvered through narrow streets and expensive landscaping, finally pulling up to a modest neighborhood that still probably cost a fortune to live in, all different narrow Victorian-looking house fronts sandwiched together like New York brownstones, tall and thin. There were a ton of trees planted in the sidewalk on the street and Sam made frustrated noises looking for the house numbers, but they finally found it. Dean managed to pull Baby into the narrow driveway, nose almost touching Castiel’s Old Lady Lincoln - tucked in a single open garage bay at street level - to get Baby’s ass end off the sidewalk that passed in front of the houses. It seemed weird that Cas would leave the garage door open but the explanation made itself clear as Castiel appeared on the long brick stairway to his front door, waved at them while squeezing around Baby and managed to get his trunk open, pull out a couple bags and shut it again by the time the Winchesters had unfolded themselves from Baby and extracted their various belongings from inside her. Cas glanced at Baby’s placement, compared her position to the mark where the garage door lock sat on the concrete floor, and pressed the garage door button with a wry grin. It closed with three inches to spare.

 

The boys trailed Castiel up his stairs as he called over his shoulder.

 

“Did you find the place easily?”

 

“The house numbers were a pain to see,” Sam explained, “but other than that, yes, no problem.”

 

Castiel peered at his house number on his door. It was black on a white door, several inches tall, and he looked puzzled as he pulled the door open, waved them inside.

 

Dean grinned. “Your number was easy to read Cas, the trees just make it hard to see them from the street, and some of the other houses were harder to read. Anyway,” he continued, setting a grocery bag of his own on the table next to Cas’s, “we know where you live now so we’re good.”

 

Castiel looked at the bag in distress. “Dean, I didn’t want you to pay for ingredients!”

 

“I didn’t,” Dean soothed, “these are just things you didn’t need to buy since I’ve already got them laying around. An onion. Cream of tartar and flour for the pie crust. Okay?” Castiel nodded, mollified, and Dean looked around the kitchen as Castiel emptied his grocery bags and put the perishables in the refrigerator - milk and butter and cheese and bacon.

 

Castiel’s front door opened right into a spacious kitchen, painted a cheery yellow with white trim and white cabinets - not what Dean would have imagined but it suited Cas, his tousled dark hair shocking against the white backdrop of his cabinets. The window over the sink faced the neighboring building which couldn’t have been more than four feet away, but the window in the front door and the big Victorian picture window facing the street let in plenty of sunshine and the space was bright and charming. There was no door into the next room, just a wide arch that opened onto a carpeted living room which Sam was already exploring, his sock feet testing the carpet as he found an outlet for his laptop, set it down on the coffee table and claimed Castiel’s couch, dropping his book bag on it and disappearing out of view only to pop back into the kitchen breathlessly to marvel  “You have a _yard_ Castiel? Is that a _fountain_? May I?”

 

Castiel’s covered his startled hesitation so quickly his guests did not catch it. “Of course,” Castiel answered smoothly. “Let me get the door for you, it’s got a trick to it.”

 

Dean trailed Castiel and Sam into the living room, their shoes clutched in their hands. Castiel had taken his off so they had too, but you obviously needed shoes to look at a _backyard_. Castiel fiddled the french doors open - there was definitely a problem with the latch - and they stepped out to pull their shoes on on his tiny deck, maybe five feet deep but the full width of the house, with a bannister along most of it except for where a set of stairs extended down to the ground at the leftmost edge, near the door to the house. The boys trailed Castiel down the stairs to the small fenced-in yard to gasp in delight as they took in what he had done.

 

The space was a straight-up zen garden. The fences were bamboo, at least ten feet tall in the tallest parts, lashed together with black twine and arranged so the top of the fence formed gentle repeating waves. The ground was covered in several thick inches of gray pea gravel, raked into concentric circles, that crunched deliciously underfoot as they tiptoed down into what was obviously Castiel’s sanctuary.  He had a large black marble vase fountain in the center, burbling water over it’s lip and sides from a source they couldn’t see, several carefully pruned shrubberies, string lights criss-crossing the space that looked like they’d be magical at night; but what stole Dean’s breath was the flowers.

 

There were dozens of them, elegant, colorful things, with thick basal leaves or long grassy ones, long arching flower stems, their pots varied in color and size but all of them with various holes around the sides of the containers. Dean had never seen anything like it, and he stepped closer to the fence to examine a series of pots hanging from it in a rough zigzag, stems arching down over the sides with a riot of different pinks on each one. He leaned forward to sniff one and smelled nothing, just an earthy loam smell.

 

“Emily isn’t fragrant,” Castiel murmured, his voice shy, and closer than Dean expected. Dean looked up to see Castiel standing beside him, gently stroking a leaf of one of the paler pink flowers, but Castiel was watching him, his face timid. Dean wondered how many people had seen this garden - Cas seemed so shy he wondered if anyone ever had - and he took a deep breath and tried to be worthy of the honor.

 

“This is beautiful Cas,” he breathed. “What kind of flowers are these?”

 

“Well,” Castiel answered eagerly, “these are Cymbidiums of course, and I have Masdevallias on the west side of the garden but just a couple because they’re greedy little space hogs, and Sylvia over here is a Vanda” - he pointed to a beautiful white spray of flowers growing out of a wooden basket hanging from the underside of the deck, waved his hand at the collection of others there to continue but his face grew gentle at Dean’s completely blank expression. “Orchids,” he explained quietly, smiling softly. “They’re orchids, Dean.”

 

Dean reached out to touch the one named Sylvia, stroking a long, strap-like leaf gently. It was thick, fleshy, not like any plant he’d ever looked at up close before. “She’s gorgeous, Cas,” he murmured. “They all are. I’ve never seen anything like these.”

 

Castiel preened on his lady’s behalf, reached out to pet her too. “San Francisco is particularly well suited to orchids, and I find tending them calming. I can take you to one of the botanical gardens sometime if you want to see more, this is a tiny collection, truly.”

 

Dean spun around in a slow circle, the gravel crunching under his feet, as Sam came over to join them from where he’d been testing out a low stone bench on the opposite side of the yard. “This doesn’t seem tiny at all Cas,” Dean protested, “but sure, I’d love that.”

 

Castiel’s slowly spreading smile was worth any amount of time staring at flowers, Dean decided, and he could see where taking care of these would be calming. He felt relaxed here, tension he hadn’t realized was twisting his shoulders only registering as it melted away, traveling down his arm, passing from his fingertips into the leaves of the lady he was stroking, and she didn’t seem to mind at all.

 

Sam leaned over to admire the one Castiel had called Emily, looking at the small copper label wired to one corner, but it was genus and species only, pressed into the copper in Castiel’s careful script. No ‘Emily’ to be seen anywhere. Sam turned to Castiel, watching with a soft smile and a twinkle in his eye, and hazarded a guess.

 

“Would I be correct in surmising these ladies have last names, Cas?”

 

“Yes, Sam, you certainly would be,” Castiel agreed, nodding solemnly, but offering no further information.

 

“Dickinson?” Sam hazarded, smiling at Cas as he stood up straight from reading the label.

 

“Yes!” Castiel’s face was delighted, and he beamed up at Sam.

 

Dean looked from one to the other of them in confusion but they were so pleased with each other he didn’t want to intrude, so he figured he’d ask Sam later, stepping around the two of them to check out the side of the garden Sam had been hanging out in. There wasn’t just a stone bench, there was a tiny _pond_ next to it up against the fence, with flowers behind it and to each side of it, and a lilypad growing in it, a tiny trickle of water coming down a flat stone and bubbling into it… and he leaned over and saw a flash of orange. There was a _fish_ in it. Wait, _two_ \- no _three_ fish!  Dean sat down on the small stone bench and leaned back against the warm stone back - the thing must weigh a _ton_. He shut his eyes and listened to the fountain, loud in the enclosed space, the sounds of the city muffled here. He half-listened to the soothing murmur of Cas and Sam’s voices as Castiel named his ladies one by one, answered in delighted affirmatives as Sam guessed last name after last name, names Dean had never heard of.

 

Dean leaned forward to trail his hand in the water, and gasped out loud as he was rewarded with tiny nibbles on his fingertips. He heard footsteps crunching over to him and smiled up at Castiel, who _scolded the fish_.

 

“Lord Byron! I fed you this _very_ morning!” he reprimanded firmly. “Don’t listen to him, Dean. He’s a terrible liar.”

 

Dean looked so disappointed that Castiel relented, reaching behind a potted orchid to pull out a small plastic can of fish food and hand it to Dean. “Just a tiny pinch,” he instructed, looking fondly at the three little faces now excitedly sucking air at the surface of the water. “They’ll eat as much as you give them and as soon as they get too big I have to trade them in for little ones again.” Castiel’s voice softened as he murmured “I hate to see them go.” Castiel watched Dean sprinkle a tiny pinch of food on the surface of the water, watched Dean’s face light up to see the fish gobble at the largesse. He smiled wistfully, gazing at the three little faces, and spoke so quietly Dean wasn’t even sure he was meant to hear it.  “I still miss Henry David. He was _such_ a little malcontent.”

 

“Where do they go?” Dean asked gently, dreading the answer, but Castiel smiled reassuringly. “Oh, just back to the store for someone with a bigger pond to take home. I foster a few at a time until they are big enough to live with the bigger koi. I leave a little note about their personalities when I bring them back so they find the right homes. Sometimes the new owners even let me visit to see how they like their new homes, which are always much nicer than this one.”

 

“Not goldfish?” Dean asked, grinning.

 

“Not goldfish,” Castiel confirmed, smiling at Dean while Sam shook his head at Dean, smirking.

 

“It’s a Zen garden, Dean.”

 

“I get that, Sam.”

 

“Zen gardens have koi, not goldfish,” Sam declared pedantically.

 

“Come on now,” Castiel defended Dean, his tone mild, “it could easily have been goldfish. Plenty of folks prefer goldfish for a pond this small.” He gazed down at the fish, nosing around the lily pads hunting for crumbs, and murmured softly, “But I believe a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, and that goes for little fishes in small ponds, too. Someday they’ll be big fishes in a small pond, thinking that’s their whole world, and then they’ll take a little trip and have their tiny carp minds _blown_ by their new possibilities.” He watched the fish fight over one last flake and shook his head fondly when Lord Byron was the one to get it. “Brat.”

 

Castiel looked up to find both brothers staring at him, rather than the fish, and he colored slightly, shrugged towards the stairs. “Shall we?” The Winchesters nodded silently and crunched towards the stairs, but when Castiel unhooked a wooden rake from the fence at the foot of the stairs Sam looked at him so pleadingly, his eyes huge and hopeful, that Castiel handed it to him without a word, stepping off the gravel onto the bottom landing of the stairs and motioning for Sam do the honors. Castiel and Dean both watched from the vantage point of the stairs, entranced, as Sam erased all signs of their visit, following the patterns that Castiel had chosen to leave the last time and adding one tiny new swirl by the fountain. Sam looked up at Cas to see if that was okay or if he should redo it. Castiel nodded, pleased, and Sam beamed; he stepped backwards onto the stairs, erased his last footprints, and hung up the rake.

 

They climbed the stairs in reverent silence, pulled off their shoes on the deck, followed Cas into his house. Only once the door was shut did the spell break, two brothers speaking over the top of each other in a torrent of joyful gushing -

 

“ - Holy Shit Cas, your garden is _amazing_ \- ”

“ - Holy Crap Cas, _seriously_ \- “

“ - What are the other fish named? - “

“ - How much do you have to water those flowers? - “

“ - How did you get that bench back there? That thing must weigh a _ton_ \- “

“ - Is the fountain water the same water as the pond? - “

 

\- while Castiel beamed at them in delight, his eyes bright and dancing.

 

“Gentlemen, _please!_ ”  he finally pleaded, and they laughed and fell silent, while he tried valiantly to remember all their questions.

 

“Let’s see: Thank you very much, the other fish are named Oscar and Henry, respectively, watering needs depend on ambient humidity, I had the bench delivered through the garage - there’s a door under the deck -  and yes, it’s the same water, it helps with aeration. A hidden pump and piping system circulates the water through a filter, up to the fountain, and it returns to the pond by gravity. Did I miss anything?”

 

The boys shook their heads no, delighted, and then Dean remembered something.

 

“ _Right!_ Cas, I brought my toolbox and the new hose for your Old Lady, shouldn’t be but five minutes to swap it out. Do you want me to take a look at that door handle too?”

 

Castiel looked surprised, then some combination of hopeful and shy, the emotions traveling across his face in real time while Dean smiled at him encouragingly.

 

“You don’t mind?” Castiel looked worried.

 

“Cas, I wouldn’t offer if I minded. Just say yes.” Dean grinned winningly, and Sam chimed in from the couch where he was already settling in, lining his new nest with papers and textbooks.

 

“Just let him, Cas. That door latch is killing him, look at him.” Sam snickered, and Castiel studied Dean’s face curiously to see what Sam saw. Dean was still smiling winningly but there was definitely a hint of pleading desperation around the edges, now that he was looking for it, and Castiel’s face broke into a huge smile as he nodded.

 

“Yes, thank you Dean,” he allowed.

 

“ _Oh thank god_. I’m going to do that first I’ll be right back.” Dean disappeared out the front door in his sock feet, pulling his shoes on as the door shut behind him, and Castiel and Sam shared a glance - Castiel delighted, Sam nodding and grinning an “I told you so” grin, and both of them going all nonchalant as Dean breathlessly pushed back through the door, kicking off his shoes and rushing over like Castiel might revoke his permission at any moment.

 

Dean shook his head at the two of them goodnaturedly. “Yeah, yeah, yuck it up, jackasses.” He grinned at Castiel. “Got a clean garbage bag, Cas? I don’t wanna set this down on the carpet, just in case...”  Castiel jumped to get him one, spread it out on the floor next to the door, and watched as Dean set her down, flipped her open, and had the door latch disassembled in under a minute, peering inside by the beam of an industrial sized maglite and poking and prodding with a screwdriver.

 

“Cas, can you  - “

 

Castiel moved smoothly to press the thing Dean was indicating while Dean knelt, his nose an inch from the door, frowning at the inner workings of the machinery.

 

“Okay now the other way - “

 

Castiel did as he was told, and Dean made a satisfied noise.

 

“ _I see it_. Okay you can let go, thanks Cas.”  Castiel stepped away as Dean poked and prodded and fiddled and cursed and fiddled some more.  Castiel wasn’t sure if he should keep watching but he couldn’t help himself, Dean’s concentration and satisfaction as he bent the machine to his will utterly mesmerizing. Dean blindly reached for the face plate on the floor behind him with one hand holding everything in position, and Castiel smoothly stepped up to retrieve it on the floor just past Dean’s reach, pressed it into his hand, ignoring the tingle where their fingers touched and picking up the screws as well, handing them to Dean one by one as he reassembled the mechanism.

Dean stepped away from the door and waved at it with a flourish for Castiel to do the honors, so Castiel stepped up to gently push the door shut, smile incredulously at Dean as he pressed the latch and it worked perfectly. He opened and shut the door a couple more times in disbelief and turned to Dean with a radiant smile.

 

“Dean, this door has _never_ worked right. _Thank you!_ ” Castiel turned away to play with the door latch again and missed Dean flushing in pleasure, the tips of his ears turning pink, but Sam saw it, and he turned away to smile into his textbook.

 

“You’re welcome,” Dean answered softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “If you open the garage door I can get that hose swapped out and check that off the list, too.”

 

“Sure, thanks again.”

 

Dean’s smile was shy. “I’m happy to do it Cas. Can’t have you getting in an accident on my watch.”

 

Castiel turned away, a tangle of emotion playing across his face as he crossed the kitchen to collect his keys and slip on his shoes again, bouncing lightly down his front steps to press the remote and duck under the garage door as it finished loudly clattering its way up the tracks and across the ceiling of his garage. His face was perfectly composed as he turned to ask if Dean needed anything, nodded and found him a large piece of cardboard in the recycling. He watched, rapt, as Dean slipped on safety goggles from inside his toolbox, collected a flashlight and a wrench and the new hose and slid halfway under Castiel’s Old lady.

 

Castiel carefully did not admire the utterly charming bow in Dean’s legs from this angle as they protruded from under the car, his face a study in confusion again now that Dean couldn’t see him. He hadn’t been on anyone’s ‘watch’ in longer than he could remember, and Dean’s offhand remark had him feeling things he could not name; sadness he knew, the familiar wistful longing an old friend he had long ignored, but something else, too. Something nice.

 

“ _Shit_ , Cas do you have a rag handy?”

 

Dean’s urgent tone pulled Castiel out of his self-reflection and he scrambled to open the correct cabinet of his carefully organized garage workbench set, pulling a rag out of an unopened package. He crouched down readily to hand it under the car to Dean, who peered at it by flashlight and then - to Castiel’s horror - used it to wipe a couple drops of oil off his _face_ , then reached up to wipe off whatever had dripped on him. Castiel shuddered watching him, and Dean grinned up at him as he slid out from under the car, accepting the hand Castiel offered and ignoring the tingle that crossed their palms as Castiel easily pulled him to his feet, immediately released his hand and stepped back to give him space.

 

Dean pulled off his goggles and wiped a couple spatters off them too, squatted on his haunches to replace his tools and the goggles in his toolbox.  

 

“All set,” he promised. “Dunno if Diego wants his hose back, but I’ll take it back to him just in case, Okay?”

 

“Of course, Dean.”  Castiel’s smile was radiant. “Thank you.”

 

Dean nodded, frowning ever-so-slightly as he collected his toolbox, stepped out of Castiel’s garage and unlocked Baby’s trunk to stow it. He pulled her trunk shut again with a satisfying clunk, chewing his bottom lip and avoiding eye contact as he contemplated.

 

“You don’t have to keep thanking me Cas,” he finally offered, meeting Castiel’s worried eyes with an uncomfortable smile. “You’re helping me more than I’m helping you and - “ Dean shook his head, his face pleading.  “It’s just... making me feel weird.”

 

“I think I understand,” Castiel answered quietly. “I’m _in it_ with you now, so we should pool our strengths without keeping a running tally of the debt incurred when we help each other, is that correct?”

 

Dean stared at Castiel with his mouth open for several seconds before realizing it and consciously snapping his mouth shut.

 

“Yes, that’s exactly it,” he agreed, nodding, eyes still wide.

 

“Good,” Castiel agreed, nodding and speaking a little louder as he pressed the remote button for the garage and the door started to rattle down. “I understand. I will try to abide by your wishes, but I will likely fail and I hope you will be able to forgive me on those occasions.”  He grinned at Dean as he turned to bound up his stairs, taking them two at a time without visible effort.

 

“I have a bit of a stubborn streak, Dean.”

 

Dean laughed out loud as he joined Castiel on the landing, slipping gracefully past Castiel into the kitchen as Castiel held the door open for him.

 

“Welcome to the club,” Dean smirked, his smile dazzling in the late afternoon sunbeams glancing through the picture window.  “We meet on Fridays. At your place.”

 

***

 

Dean looked up from the bowl where he was currently cutting butter and flour into pea-sized chunks with a pair of butter knives. Castiel hadn’t had a pie plate but he had a takeaway round aluminum salad container in the recycling that Dean had washed and reshaped, buttered and floured, and it was sitting on a cookie sheet on the counter, waiting for the crust he needed to roll out.

 

“What are the chances you’ve got a rolling pin, Cas?”

 

Castiel looked up from the saucepan he was whisking with a fork, his rapidly circling hand slowing as he turned his attention to Dean. “I beg your pardon?”

 

“Rolling pin. Have you got one?”

 

Castiel shook his head slowly, his face downcast.  “No, I’m sorry Dean, I don’t have one of those either.”

 

Dean smiled soothingly across the kitchen at his new friend. “That’s Okay Cas, I’ve never used one before anyway. We always used an empty forty ouncer, I just asked cuz you’re classy and shit.” Castiel snorted, staring down at the roux he was currently whisking without a whisk and making sure he was stirring all parts of the pan. “I don’t suppose you drink forties?” Dean asked hopefully, and Castiel snorted again, looking up at Dean this time.

 

“I wouldn’t call myself ‘classy and shit’, Dean, but you are correct in assuming I don’t drink beer that comes in bottles containing more than twelve fluid ounces. Maaaybe sixteen, if it’s a special occasion.”  He grinned. “There’s a wine bottle in the recycling that might do.” He returned his attention to the saucepan, and Dean nodded and splashed a little ice water into the bowl, stirred it with a fork to see if it was enough.

 

Despite his claims to the contrary, Castiel had turned out to be a capable sous chef, gladly dicing onions precisely and perfectly to Dean’s specifications, then cheese as well while Dean fried bacon, since Castiel didn’t have a cheese grater. He seemed to have a sixth sense about never being in the way - no matter where Dean turned his attention Castiel would magically vacate the space Dean needed - and Castiel had been happy to take over stirring the roux sans whisk once Dean realized that with Castiel’s help he could thread the mac and cheese and pie processes and have both done at nearly the same time instead of sequentially.

 

Dean balled up his crust and squeezed off about two-thirds of the mass, floured a little circle on the counter and plopped the ball of dough there. He crossed over to the recycling which was just past the stove, Castiel fluidly stepping out of his way while continuing to stir the roux at arm’s length. Dean stood up holding the wine bottle, stepped into Castiel’s space to hip check him ever-so-gently and then step back to the sink, grinning.

 

Castiel shook his head, smiling to himself and moving smoothly back to his spot in front of the stove, Dean could see him out of the corner of his eye. So he didn’t _mind_ Dean crowding into his space, he just didn’t want to be in the way or something. _Good to know,_ Dean mused. Honestly he’d started feeling a tiny bit like he had bad breath or something the way Cas was avoiding him, but the corner of Cas’s lip was still curled up when he stole another glance and the worry that he hadn’t realized had been gnawing at him melted away. _Okay, just another Cas quirk then_ he filed away, scrubbing at the wine bottle label under the stream of running water and coming to the realization it would have to be soaked off.   _For next time_ , he decided, drying it off.

 

“Sammy! I’m moving up in the world,” Dean hollered, pressing the bottle into the ball of dough and grinning up at Sam as he wandered over to see what the fuss was all about.

 

Sam laughed. “That’s a first for sure, Uncle Bobby never had anything but forty ouncers and liquor bottles, and liquor bottles are weird shapes.”

 

Dean snorted. “Can you imagine trying to roll out pie crust with a bottle of Jack?”

 

“You could pound it flat maybe,” Sam offered, grinning. He wandering over to see what Cas was doing. “Water’s boiling,” Sam observed, and Castiel looked up from his roux to glance into the small stock pot that was definitely at a rolling boil.

 

“So it is,” Castiel agreed. “Dean, is this roux done to your satisfaction?”

 

Dean set his bottle down and stepped over to take a look. The milk and flour and onions were bubbling and creamy, definitely starting to thicken.  “Yep, looks good,” Dean approved. “You can stir in the cheese now, a little at a time, until it’s all melted. Should be ready juuuust about when the macaroni are al dente,” he explained, shoving a thumb into the easy-open perforations at the corner of the box of Muellers and pouring most of the elbows into the water. He stopped at some arbitrary point, his eyes narrowing at the size of the saucepan, and set the box down so he could grab the salt and give it a generous shake into the water. “I’ll be back,” he intoned as he stepped back to his pie, his Schwarzenegger not half bad, and Sam rolled his eyes and retreated to the living room.

 

“Seven minutes,” Dean declared. Castiel leaned forward obediently to set the timer with his non-stirring hand. Dean nodded to himself, pleased, and poured spiced and sugared apples into his makeshift pie tin, stuck his thumb in the ice water to wet the edge of the bottom crust. He rolled out the top crust, humming quietly to himself, rolled the circle of crust up around the wine bottle, smoothly reversed course to unroll it over the top of his pie, slice off the excess, flute the edges with his thumb and forefinger. He could feel Castiel’s attention on him like he had at the pool hall and it felt… nice. He was good at pie and proud of his crust and his makeshift salad-tin improvisation, and he preened a little, looked up at Cas with a smile.

 

Castiel smiled back, a fleeting shy quirk of his lips that still managed to reach his eyes, before returning his attention to stirring cheese into milk and flour. He was quiet while Dean poked holes in his crust, stepped back smoothly as Dean pulled the oven open in front of him to pop his pie on the top rack. When Dean pulled a clean fork out of the silverware drawer to break up the macaroni that were already forming a solid mass, stabbing at them playfully as if the fork were a sword, Castiel asked his question.

 

“You’re good at this, Dean. Have you made a lot of pies?”

 

Dean was taken off guard, startled into staring at Castiel blankly for a microsecond before a pleased smile flitted across his face and settled into a sheepish grin, his attention studiously on the clumps of elbows he was separating.

 

“Some, I guess. Not since we moved out here.” He shrugged, flummoxed, added a shy, “Thanks.”

 

“I thought we weren’t thanking each other.”

 

Dean’s eyes immediately sought Castiel’s, his brow furrowed, but Castiel was painstakingly stirring, his attention completely absorbed in watching the last of the cheese melt into the roux. Dean studied the side of Castiel’s face, observed the hint of a crease at the corner of his eye, watched the corner of his lip quirk just the tiniest bit then return to the straight line it was currently forming, and Dean’s eyes narrowed.

 

“Are you… _fucking with me,_ Castiel?”

 

Castiel held the innocent straight face for several impressive seconds before he broke, his smile wide and bright. “Yes,” he admitted, looking _way_ too smug.

 

The timer chose that moment to go off, the noodles swollen now to very nearly the top of the water. Dean’s guess had been exactly correct, Castiel noted, any more and the pot would have overflowed.

 

Dean carried the scalding pot to the sink and waiting colander, a kitchen thing Castiel _did_ have in his collection. “For washing fruit,” he had explained simply.  Dean dumped the noodles, rinsed them under cold water, carefully considering how to proceed. New friendships could be such careful dances of getting to know each other, but he just… _liked_ Cas, and it would be really nice to skip all the worrying for once and jump straight to the ease. He shook his head and went for broke.

 

“You know what? You’re awesome, Cas,” he declared. “But I am gonna pay you back for that. Dunno when, just... sometime when you least expect it.” He grinned at Castiel as he set the pot full of noodles back on the stove sans water, reaching to pour as much of Castiel’s roux as would fit into the stock pot full of noodles while Castiel stirred it in with a pair of takeout chopsticks; the longest implements they had been able to find in his kitchen.

 

Castiel’s face spread into a slow smirk, his eyes half-lidded, his expression completely devilish when Dean finally looked his way.

 

“You can _try_.”

 

***

 

By the time the timer went off the kitchen smelled _amazing_ , and Sam appeared hopefully in the kitchen doorway, drooling, as Dean stepped away from his third software presentation since the mac and cheese had gone in the oven to take a look. He pulled the pie out but not the mac and cheese, and Sam’s face fell with a groan.

 

Dean laughed. “Ten minutes, Sam, fifteen tops. But you won’t have to wait for pie, we can just dig right in after we’ve eaten the mac and cheese.”

 

Sam harrumphed his way back into the living room and Dean smiled fondly after him, turned to glare at the software, plopped himself back into the kitchen chair.

 

“Can my customers request a high chair when they book a table?” Castiel asked plaintively.

 

Dean smiled pleasantly. “Not at this time, Sir, but that feature is on our radar to be rolled out in the next iteration. I’ll check with my software team on a timeline for that and get back to you a little later in the week, alright?” He made an imaginary note on an imaginary notepad and Castiel beamed at him proudly.

 

“ _Very_ good Dean. I think we can stop for now, until I’ve talked to Zachariah and figured out our next steps, alright?”

 

Dean nodded eagerly, sagging with relief. “ _Oh thank god._ ”

 

“Castiel is fine, Dean.” Castiel’s eyes twinkled with mirth, and Dean actually spit himself a little and had to wipe his mouth with the back of his sleeve, still snickering.

 

“Shadddddup.”

 

The timer went off again and this time Dean did pull the mac and cheese out, the bacon and crumb topping all golden brown and smelling delicious in the takeout-trays-and-aluminum-foil casserole dish Dean had fashioned since Castiel did not own one and the pie was currently occupying his only cookie sheet. Sam appeared as if by magic as Castiel cleared their laptops from the table, and Dean gingerly carried his creation to the table to set it on the trivets Castiel somehow owned and carefully laid out side by side in the center of the table. The man’s kitchen implement selection was so random as to be a complete mystery to Dean.

 

Cold beers were distributed, plates handed around, napalm was eagerly scooped onto them around Dean’s wincing that the dish was going to come apart, and three men valiantly tried not to burn their faces off, blowing on forkfuls and hissing as they scalded their tongues and quenched them with mouthfuls of beer. Soon enough the meal was edible and Dean and Castiel ate slowly, watching Sam eat as a spectator sport.

 

By the third helping Sam _did_ poke through the makeshift casserole dish, hot noodles oozing through the gap as the foil tore and the takeaway cartons broke apart. Dean sighed as he stood up to deal with it and Castiel laughed, waving at Dean to sit back down.

 

“It’s fine Dean, don’t worry about it. I’ll clean it up later. Three to one odds not with my mouth.” Castiel grinned, shaking his head and flushing slightly as Dean gaped at him in disbelief he would say such a thing. Castiel glanced at the label of his beer bottle suspiciously as if it might be to blame. “I _meant_ to say,” he corrected himself firmly, ”This is delicious and _thank you_ for making it,” - he emphasized the thank you with a raised eyebrow at Dean, daring him to protest, but Dean wisely said nothing, his smile radiant as Castiel continued - “And I know you were only teasing about the Stubborn Club holding meetings at my place on Fridays Dean, but if I have a vote I move that we make that happen.”

 

Sam grinned, his mouth still full. “I second the motion. All in favor?”

 

Dean looked around the table, delighted. “Aye,” he said softly, his eyes shining.

 

“Aye.”

 

“Aye.”

 

“The ayes have it and the resolution is adopted.” Castiel’s eyes were very bright as he made the pronouncement, and Dean noticed he blinked rapidly before turning away to carry his plate to the sink and fetch three smaller plates from the cabinet. He brought the plates and three small spoons and forks to the table, looked to Dean hesitantly.

 

“Yeah no, go ahead,” Dean assured him, “I absolutely did say no wait on the pie after dinner.”

 

Castiel smiled, fetched the pie to the table, and then, to Sam’s visible delight, pulled a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Vanilla ice cream from his freezer with a flourish.

 

Dean watched Castiel carefully cut the pie into perfect eighths, plate three wedges with his only spatula, scoop out ice cream with what looked like a brand new ice cream scoop. Dean accepted his plate with a gracious smile, his fork poised to dive in, but he didn’t take a bite until he watched Castiel carefully cut a bite with his fork, spear a sliver of ice cream, pop it in his mouth. Castiel did not make a sound, but his eyes slipped closed and his eyelashes actually fluttered in pleasure, Dean’s entire body flushing with warmth to see it. Only then did Dean take a bite, nodding in satisfaction as the crust melted in his mouth. The fancy grass-fed organic butter Castiel had insisted on _had_ made a difference, he noted with a sigh of surrender, and he watched Sam plow through his piece and reach for a second before Castiel had even taken a second bite with warm satisfaction curling around his heart.

 

 


	11. United We Stand

Late Monday morning Castiel looked up in surprise to see Dean at his cubicle door, today’s black suit and pale green silk tie over a crisp white dress shirt startlingly appealing in the way they brought out his eyes... which were flared white in panic, as were his nostrils. Castiel‘s face immediately went soothing, his hand reaching out reflexively for Dean’s arm, stopping in midair not even halfway through the journey there.

 

“What is it Dean?” Castiel murmured quietly, his eyebrows raised in concern.

 

“Did you see the message?”  Dean’s voice almost cracked, and Castiel did not miss the quaver.

 

“No? Hang on - “ Castiel clicked his interoffice correspondence software icon to read the message from Zachariah, addressed to both of them, to come see him in his office right this minute.

 

“Alright,” Castiel soothed, springing to his feet and pulling on his suit jacket. “Breathe, Dean. I’ve got this, just let me take the lead, alright?”

 

Dean nodded, gulping. He took a deep breath and smoothed his features, squared his shoulders. Once again Castiel was astounded at the transformation. He studied Dean’s face as he straightened his own tie, but there was no hint of fear visible anywhere on Dean now, his shoulders at ease and his face pleasantly impassive, and Castiel smiled at him in approval as he squared his own shoulder and stepped out of his cubicle to lead the way to Zachariah’s office.

 

***

 

Zachariah was not in a good mood. They could see him barking into his phone through the window of his corner office as they approached, but he hung up and waved at them to come in with a brief grimace that could technically be called a smile, jotting several notes down on something as they stepped inside and stood at attention in front of his desk.

 

Zachariah peered up at the two of them from the paper on his desk, frowning.

 

“I didn’t quite understand what you were asking here, Novak is it?” he started without preamble, “ - or to be more accurate I don’t quite understand _why_ you’re asking it.”

 

“Castiel, sir.” Castiel’s smile was pleasant, but politely confused. “What are you asking, precisely?”

 

“Why do you need to go to meetings with Dean here, Castiel? He’s been selling like a rock star without your... let’s call it assistance.  I prefer to keep my software people away from the customers whenever possible. Although - “ Zachariah gave Castiel’s attire a cursory glance and added “ - I suppose you are one of the more presentable ones.”

 

Castiel could feel Dean bristle, although there was no visible change in his appearance or bearing that Castiel could detect from the corner of his eye. He spoke pleasantly, his tone intended to soothe Dean more than for Zachariah.

 

“Before you came on board, sir, we sent a software team member along to every sales meeting. When I was initially developing the platform I personally made it a point to meet with every new client for the first year to listen to their concerns and to design the platform with an eye towards future scaling and feature creep. We only stopped the practice when we got short-staffed as the bubble burst, sir.”

 

Zachariah stared at Castiel blankly. “I thought you were a new hire, Novak, this May.”

 

“Castiel, _sir._ ” Castiel’s tone was impeccably polite, but somehow Dean was certain Zachariah would not call him Novak again. “No, sir. I came _back_ to work here in May this year after - after stepping away briefly for a personal matter. I was one of the first hires from the day the company started, sir.  Five years ago, sir, from the Spring of ‘97, until September of 2001.”

 

Zachariah and Dean both gaped at Castiel in surprise. Despite his tenuous grasp of the industry from his recent self-guided crash course, even Dean understood that this was an almost unheard of eternity, given the rapid turnover rates and aggressively enticing headhunters poaching star employees left and right in the valley. Downturn or not, from the look on Zachariah’s face, Castiel could indeed work anywhere he liked at a moment’s notice. Dean recovered first, composing his face as Zachariah asked his next question in a far more respectful, slightly incredulous tone.

 

“Alright _Castiel_ , so if I understand this correctly, _you wrote our software from the ground up_?”

 

“Yes, sir. Many hands helped as the company gained traction of course, but I designed the database and the framework and I wrote the lion's share of our code libraries. To this day I continue to develop most of the new features on the database end before the team integrates the new features into the customer portal. We all test it after that, and then we work together to integrate our updates into the live copy.”  Castiel made it sound like no big deal, but Dean’s eyes widened as he watched Zachariah reassess who he was talking to, the adjustment in his demeanor something Dean found intensely satisfying, even as he marveled that Castiel had somehow stooped to helping _him._

 

Zachariah glanced at a different sheet of paper on his desk and then back up at Castiel “But, Castiel _,_ it says here Anna Milton was hired in January of ‘01. Why is she the Software Team Lead if you _designed the platform_?”

 

Castiel smiled politely. “The logical puzzle of storing and manipulating information efficiently and elegantly is something I enjoy, sir. Personnel management does not interest me in the slightest.”

 

That actually got a snort from Zachariah and a bit of a smile as he stared at Castiel calculatingly. “I feel you there,” he muttered. He steepled his fingers for a moment, considering the men standing at attention in front of him.

 

 _“_ Why is it _you_ need to go with Dean then, Castiel? Couldn’t we send someone less valuable to the team with him and have them report back to you?”

 

Dean hadn’t thought of that, and his stomach sank. He didn’t want anyone else to go with him, he realized suddenly, he wanted Castiel there. He wanted Castiel at his side, that white hot fury between him and the fucking handsy client. Dean’s carefully impassive face waited to hear what Castiel would say next with quiet dread pooling in his stomach.

 

Castiel shook his head gently at Zachariah, the deferential but quietly amused smile playing over his lips absolutely in no way impolite, yet somehow still communicating in no uncertain terms what a terribly ignorant suggestion this was. “I’m sorry, it doesn’t work that way, sir. I need to understand the problem at a fundamental level and in order to do that I need to ask my own questions when a potential customer asks for a new feature. Dean has been doing an exemplary job with bringing on new clients, sir, but - “ Dean winced “ - the first chain was added during my absence and the codebase needs a little work to handle scaling up to six locations. I need to reassess several of my database tables for that sir, and the best way for me to do that without making any decisions that will have to be completely reworked six months or a year down the road - at considerable time and expense - is to be able to ask any questions that come to my mind during the initial sales meetings, precisely at the very moment the first client with six locations makes their needs known.”

 

Dean mentally relaxed a tiny bit, while continuing to stand completely at attention. _Holy Shit_ , Castiel was _great_ at this.

 

Zachariah frowned to himself, tapping a pen on his notes. He nodded to himself and made a decision.

 

“Dean.”

 

“Yes, sir?”  Dean’s voice was a tiny bit scratchy. He realized as he spoke these were the first words he’d said during the entire meeting.

 

“From now on you will keep Castiel apprised of your meeting schedule, particularly any clients with multiple locations or who request features we do not currently offer, and you will accommodate him if he wishes to accompany you to any meetings with any of these clients, is that understood?”

 

“Absolutely, sir.” Dean kept his relief entirely contained, but he knew Castiel could feel it by the way his eyes sparkled in his completely impassive face.

 

“Good. Set up a new meeting with the six-location client and take Castiel to have a chat with them before you let them sign that contract. I want him to take a look at any new features before we agree to provide them. Castiel, I want you to let me know if anything looks like it’s going to involve ‘considerable time or expense’ before we agree to a delivery date. Capice?”

 

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”  Castiel did not in any way indicate that this was exactly what he had asked for in the first place, but Dean was quietly astonished all the same to watch Castiel’s exact request fall from Zachariah’s lips as his own idea.

 

Zachariah nodded his satisfaction and waved his hand at them in dismissal, and the two of them nodded and exited. Castiel followed Dean to his office this time so they could step inside, shut the door, and Dean could sag in relief, his breath huffing out like he’d been holding it the entire time.

 

Castiel smiled at him, his hand twitching as though he wanted to put it on Dean’s shoulder, but remaining resolutely at his side. Dean crossed the distance Castiel could not, reaching out to grasp Castiel’s shoulder, which was distractingly solid under his deceptively accountant-esque suit, and look him square in the eye.

 

“ _Holy Shit_ , Cas,” he murmured, squeezing Castiel’s arm. “You kicked all manner of ass in there.”

 

Castiel shrugged modestly, stepping back but only just the slightest bit as Dean released him, his smile self-effacing. “It was nothing.”

 

“Cut that out,” Dean disagreed, “You cut that out right now.” His voice dropped to barely a whisper, but he was serious, his tone adamant. “I know what I said yesterday, but I. Don’t. _Care_. _Thank you_ _Cas_ , seriously, you saved me in there. Not to mention you’re kind of a huge deal around here and you’re so modest the _boss_ didn’t even know it. Dude. You’re _awesome_ , alright? Don’t even try to deny it.” Dean grinned at Castiel, _daring_ him to disagree, and Castiel laughed and accepted defeat graciously.

 

“Aright, alright. You’re welcome, Dean.” He tilted his head pensively. “Lunch?“

 

Dean nodded vigorously. “My treat, least I can do. Let me just change my shirt.”

 

Castiel watched in confusion as Dean undid his tie, gingerly removed his suit coat, and Castiel’s eyebrows rose in surprise. The underarms of Dean’s white shirt were drenched, and he crossed to the closet in his office, shucked the shirt and undershirt before Castiel could think to look away from the acres of freckles suddenly swimming in his vision. Castiel blinked and Dean was reapplying deodorant, blinked again and Dean was buttoning up another white shirt over a clean undershirt, retying his tie without even looking. He grinned at Castiel as he straightened the tie and pulled his suit coat back on.

 

“Flop sweat. Can’t help it.” Dean shrugged. “I can control my face and how I hold my body Cas, but it seems when the stakes are high, I can’t control my pits.” He sighed heavily and Castiel nodded slowly, shrugged sympathetically.

 

“Palm sweat.”

 

“What?”

 

“When I panic. My palms sweat.” Castiel shrugged, half smiled. “It’s the weirdest thing, I’ve literally pissed myself in terror, but sweaty palms are still the thing I hate the most. Shall we?” He held his open hand towards the door, the question hanging in the air, and Dean couldn’t stop himself from staring at his hand, imagining it sweaty. Dean grinned guiltily as Castiel followed his glance and his eyes narrowed.

 

“Not just now, Dean.”

 

Dean laughed, stepping past Castiel to reach for the door handle.

 

“No hair, either, I see.”

 

Castiel spoke loftily as he stepped through the door Dean held open for him, his face straight but his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Not for lack of trying, Dean, I assure you.”

 

Dean’s bark of laughter was very loud in the quiet hallway, and he covered his mouth self-consciously as he scrambled to catch up with Castiel, long strides carrying him away at a rapid clip towards the stairwell.

  
  


***

  


After a pleasant lunch with Castiel, procrastinating the inevitable, Dean agonized for a good hour about what to say to the client. When he finally bit the bullet and called, he said only that his boss had requested they have another meeting to go over a few questions that had come up from the software team, and he made no mention of bringing backup. The client was eager to see him again - used those exact words, even, and Dean suppressed a shudder as he agreed to a lunch meeting the very next day, hanging up with a strong urge to go home and shower. He suppressed that too, typing only a formal date and time through the office intranet to Castiel, and texting him a single sentence on his personal phone so there wouldn’t be a paper trail.

 

“ _I didn’t tell him you’re coming._ ”

 

He stared at his phone for a long minute, but nothing came back, and he found himself so nervous his hands were shaking as he typed a followup.

 

“ _Cas I don’t know if I can do this._ ”

 

By the time he regretted pressing send it it was too late, and he pushed his phone away angry with himself for his weakness, jumped out of his skin when it vibrated.

 

“ _Breathe. I’m in a meeting. I’ll be there in twenty minutes_.”

 

Dean shoved his phone away again, gulping air and trying not to hyperventilate as he sweated through his second shirt of the day, his heart pounding in his ears. The rising adrenaline in his stomach twisted around his sandwich from an hour ago and he felt abruptly nauseous. He scrambled to reach for his wastebasket in time, but the wave passed as he got the basket between his knees, just a little bile in his mouth, no sandwich wasted. The second wave came just as he heard the quiet knock on his door, and he heaved his lunch into the metal basket as the door opened and Castiel let himself in, locked the door behind him, rushed to Dean’s side.

 

Castiel’s hand on his back was solid and warm, and Dean concentrated on that and the sound of Castiel’s voice, his eyes tightly shut, as he fought for control.

 

“Don’t fight so hard Dean, I need you to relax,” Castiel instructed gently.

 

“Breathe in, slowly, through your nose while I count to four Dean, -  two, three, four.”

 

“Good, now hold it for seven - three, four, five, when I say go let it out your mouth slow for eight - Go, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, in through your nose now for four again - “

 

Castiel led Dean through breathing exercises for several minutes. After the first minute the hand on Dean’s back moved to hold Dean’s wrist, and he concentrated on the tingle he could feel from the tips of Castiel’s fingers as they slowly coaxed his heart from a gallop to a canter to a trot. When his runaway heart finally slowed to a walk, Castiel released his wrist and unobtrusively melted back out of his personal space, relieving him of his wastebasket as he did so. Dean reflexively reached out to rub his arm where the fingerprints still tingled, their absence somehow a loss. He realized, suddenly, that Castiel hadn’t been holding his hand, he’d been checking his pulse, and he felt like an idiot for taking comfort from the gesture; at least until he lifted his eyes to Castiel’s face.

 

Castiel looked so worried he could cry. In fact, on closer inspection Dean realized he actually had tears in the corners of his eyes, and he didn’t even think about it, just lurched up out of his chair and threw his arms around a surprised Castiel and squeezed, stepping away self-consciously almost immediately as he realized his overstep, muttering his apologies about the sweat and his puke breath but not quite able to find the words to apologize for the attempted hug.

 

“It’s okay,” Castiel soothed, smoothing the surprise from his face, which transitioned to chagrin as he apologized. “I came as fast as I could, I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner - “  
  
“What? Dude, don’t worry about it, thank you for talking me down from… ” Dean waved his hand helplessly. “What do you even call this?” he asked plaintively.

 

“Some of the guys called it pre-battle jitters,” Castiel offered gravely, “Although I’m not sure that quite applies here - ”

 

“- Oh yeah it does.” Dean shook his head, wincing. “He said - he said he was ‘ _eager to see me again’._ ” Dean shuddered, sank into his chair and and clasped his hands tightly together so Castiel wouldn’t see them shake. “I’m sorry Cas, I’m being a giant pussy.”

 

“ _Don’t you dare.”_ Castiel’s sharp tone surprised both of them, and Castiel held out a hand in apology. “I’m sorry Dean, I meant, I don’t want you to blame yourself. This is _not your fault._  You shouldn’t have to deal with this situation, but we’ve started down this path and it’s too late to make a complaint to HR now that we’ve made our request to Zachariah. We’re going to have to take the meeting Dean, I don’t see another way.” Castiel’s face was an agony of apology, but Dean nodded. He was right, they’d already played their hand. Dean sighed heavily, ran a hand absently through his sweat-damp hair.

 

“I know, I know, you’re right. I’ll suck it up and smile pretty.”

 

“ _No, Dean.”_ This time Castiel did not apologize for his tone. “We have to have the meeting, that’s _all_ . _He will not lay a hand on you_ . You have my word.” Castiel was almost vibrating with the rage Dean had caught a glimpse of in the car, and he was _terrifying._ Dean nodded gratefully, his fear ebbing and replacing itself with certainty he was going to be _safe_. He’d like to see anyone try and get past Castiel when he looked like that and live.

 

Castiel took a deep, calming breath, carefully composed himself. He started to apologize again, but the smug smile on Dean’s face gave him pause and he smiled back instead, confused.

 

“What are you grinning about, Dean?”

 

“You. I kinda hope he tries something now, just to see you maul his corpse.” Dean grinned, and Castiel snorted.

 

“Let’s hope for all our sakes it doesn’t get to that point. I imagine you would no longer earn a commission if I murdered the client.”

 

Dean snorted in return, picturing it. “I could steal his wallet though, on our way out. Rack up his cards for a couple hours ‘til they catch us.”

 

Castiel laughed out loud at that, shaking his head. He nodded towards Dean’s wastebasket. “There are kitchen trash bags in the cabinet in the breakroom.”

 

“Good to know. I wish the windows opened.”

 

“Burn a bag of popcorn in the breakroom and bring it back here with you.”

 

“Shit, how are you so smart, Cas?”

 

“Nature, Dean. Sure as hell wasn’t nurture.”

 

Dean grinned at Castiel ruefully, pulling on his suit coat to hide his freshly stained pits. He raised a hand towards Castiel.

 

“Orphan High Fiiive!”

 

Castiel was the one to spit himself this time, horrified but laughing, and Dean held the door for him as they left his office, taking Castiel’s horrortainment firmly as a win.

 

 


	12. And Teach Them How To War

On Tuesday, Castiel wore cologne. Not that he didn’t usually smell great, Dean chided himself, waiting for Castiel to finish typing whatever had his attention after the brief glance and silent “just-a-minute” finger he had spared Dean when he knocked, but…  He was wearing the trousers from one of his usual perfectly tailored black suits, the same crisp white shirt he apparently had scores of at home, a shiny black silk tie setting off his chiseled features and that unruly shock of dark hair, but... he definitely smelled different. A different cologne, then. Something with a sharp top note to it and something subtle and strong underneath, something that made Dean picture a tiger, crouching to strike. Dean smiled softly to himself, guiltily indulged in a long slow inhalation through his nose just as Castiel wrapped up whatever he was doing and swiveled his chair around in time to catch him, his lips curving into a wicked smile.

 

“Do you like it? It’s my battle scent.” Castiel’s smile widened as Dean looked guilty as hell to be busted, and Castiel stood up to stretch and then deliberately step forward into Dean’s space. The scent was powerful up close and Dean took a flustered step back without meaning to, his eyes widening as Castiel nodded and grinned up at him knowingly. 

 

“See?”

 

Dean nodded, grinning in return. “Wow, yeah, I see what you mean.” Dean blinked slowly, the weight of Castiel’s full attention suddenly making him feel shy. “Is there, Uh, is there anything I should be doing or getting ready Cas? Before...”  He couldn’t bring himself to even finish the sentence, but Castiel smiled at him soothingly and shook his head no.

 

“I’ve got this, Dean. Let me take the lead, like you did for our meeting with Zachariah, okay?”    

 

Dean gulped and nodded, closing his eyes for a second to get a handle on his heartbeat. “You were  _ so _ great in there,” he whispered, opening his eyes to see Castiel’s smile and modest shrug. 

 

“We’re pooling our strengths, Dean,” Castiel murmured softly. “That means  _ we _ were great in there, right?” He grinned as Dean snorted and shook his head ruefully. “ _ In any case _ , I’ve got this meeting covered, you just smile and nod and anything I say, you agree with me, alright? I need you to play dumb, can you do that for me?”

 

Dean nodded slowly. “You’re being awfully generous tossing that “we” around, Cas, but yes, yes, I think I can handle that.” He laughed suddenly, his mirth flashing white teeth and pink tongue and pulling an answering smile from Castiel with his contagion. “Playing dumb is my specialty, Cas.”

 

Castiel snorted, reaching for his suit coat on the hanger on his cubicle wall. “Shall we? I assume lunch can wait until we’ve finished the meeting?”

 

Dean huffed out a half-laugh, nodding. “For sure. I already threw up breakfast at home.”

 

Castiel nodded solemnly, adjusting his tie. “Good. Better not to add food to nerves.” He collected his laptop case, stepped out of his cubicle, indicated with a glance that Dean should lead the way. “ Once more unto the breach?”

 

Dean nodded, adjusting the shoulder strap to his laptop bag as he turned to lead the way to his Baby, breathing as slow as he could manage, and  _ damn glad _ the tiger striding behind him was on his side.

  
  


***

  
  


The client was tall and surprisingly lean for a restaurant owner, his hair more pepper than salt, his eyes sharp, and his face fell in a fleeting microexpression that quickly vanished to see that Dean was not alone. 

 

“Why, Dean,” he exclaimed, crossing the restaurant to extend a hand towards Castiel, “So lovely of you to bring a friend! Please, introduce us!”

 

Dean didn’t even get a chance. His mouth opened to do as he was bid but Castiel was already stepping forward, eagerly shaking hands with the client and taking care of his own introduction.

 

“You must be Alastair, it is  _ such _ a pleasure to meet you, sir, my name is Castiel! I write the software that my colleague Dean has so capably been showing you - “ he waved a hand at Dean dismissively and Dean marveled silently that at this point Castiel’s entire body was somehow between himself and the client  “ - and I am  _ so _ delighted to get a chance to speak with you about scaling our software up to serve six locations under the same account, what a  _ fascinating _ data model and an  _ honor _ to work with someone as successful as yourself, sir.”  Castiel had not yet released the client’s hand, and he was standing close enough to the man, looking intently up the several inches to his face without blinking once, that Dean noticed the proximity as unusual.

 

Alastair was taken aback, his eyes shrewd as he studied Castiel, but Castiel threw no false notes. An eager software nerd, delighted by the prospect of new data, his grip firm and friendly… Dean watched silently as Alastair’s eyes swept over Castiel, really looked at him, his eyes raking over Castiel’s face, lingering on his mouth, slipping down over his shoulders and chest and dipping lower before slowly coming up to rest on his face again, a curve on Alastair’s lips. Dean suppressed a shudder and watched Castiel, fascinated, as Castiel smiled up at Alastair, his face innocent and open. 

 

“I’m going to need that hand back Castiel,” Alastair said gravely, and Castiel released his hand  _ reluctantly _ , his fingers brushing over Alastair’s, apologizing all the while as if it happened all the time.

 

“Oh, yes of course, I’m sorry, sir.“ To Dean’s surprise Castiel moved  _ closer _ to Alastair as he released his hand, enthusiastically reaching for his laptop case and crowding Alastair enough that the man took a reflexive step back from the good-looking nerd with poor social skills as Castiel gushed “Is this a good place to set up and ask you some questions, sir?”

 

Alastair allowed as how his office would be better suited, and he made to collect Dean as well with a friendly reach of his hand but Castiel was  _ right there,  _ his body between them again, smelling kind of intoxicating and innocently, eagerly,  _ too close  _ to Alastair, the planes of his body somehow particularly distracting. Alastair was certainly distracted, turning to lead the way to his office with the tiger almost nipping at his heels and Dean trailing several steps behind, his stomach a wreck but his estimation for Castiel ratcheting up several notches all the same. Cas was  _ baiting _ Alastair, Dean was almost certain of it.

 

Any lingering doubt Dean was harboring evaporated when they got to Alastair’s office and Alastair tried to wave the two of them to the couch in his office, staying back a moment to close the door behind them. Castiel smoothly took the center, sat down, lithely bounced back up, his forehead furrowed. As Alastair approached, clearly having meant to take the middle and obviously intent on making that happen, Castiel unbuttoned his suit coat and gracefully slipped out of it, handed it silently to Dean to hang over the back of one of the chairs they apparently weren’t going to be sitting in, and turned to query Alastair, leaning just a little too close again. 

 

“You don’t mind, do you sir?” Castiel asked innocently, his eyes wide and incredibly blue, Dean noticed, watching Cas stare up at Alastair. “My apologies, sir, I tend to run hot.” Castiel wasn’t wearing an undershirt anymore somehow, he must have taken it off when he’d made a pit stop at the bathroom, and Dean realized suddenly he could  _ see Castiel’s nipples.  _ Just a hint of a darker circle, and  _ shit _ he could see Cas’s  _ abs  _ through his shirt,  _ Jesus _ . Somehow seeing Castiel’s body through his shirt seemed much more risqu é than playing basketball with him entirely shirtless had been, not even a week ago. Dean stared in quiet astonishment as he watched Castiel’s intended effect happen in slow motion; Alastair’s eyes raked helplessly over Castiel’s torso and he swallowed, mutely nodded his permission for Castiel to remain coat-free for the duration.

 

Castiel graciously smiled his thanks at being allowed to continue as eye candy, folded himself gracefully and obliviously into the center spot that Alastair wanted again, rapidly set up his laptop and had a notebook and pen in his hands by the time Dean and Alastair had seated themselves on either side of him, mute for completely different reasons. Dean almost couldn’t breathe as Castiel’s cologne rolled off him on practically visible waves of body heat -  _ Jesus _ he wasn’t lying about running hot - and Castiel nodded at Dean. 

 

“Dean, if you could start the demo please…” Dean gulped and nodded, leaning forward awkwardly to start the demo on the laptop that was positioned more in front of Castiel than himself, but he needn’t have worried. For every phrase Dean managed, Castiel had several interruptions of pertinent, intelligent questions, jotting down Alastair’s answers in his neat hand and asking more questions. After the first couple screens Castiel impatiently and completely naturally pushed Dean’s hand away and took over doing the demo, asking question after question on each screen while he let his entire thigh press against Alastair’s, his entire body lean in  _ too close _ , until even Alastair seemed uncomfortable with the seating arrangements. He’d made the bed though and Dean watched with quiet satisfaction as Alastair couldn’t find a way to maneuver his way out of it, Castiel’s line of questioning and obviously innocent nerd ignorance of social mores and how much eye-watering cologne to wear completely above reproach by the man who had waved them to a low leather couch instead of the perfectly good chairs beside his desk. 

 

When Castiel reached the end of the demo he had several more questions for Alastair about timeframes and whether he intended to add more locations and Dean listened with only half an ear, his pulse very nearly at normal speeds as he breathed quietly through his mouth, because tasting Castiel’s cologne was better, at this point, than smelling even one more breath of it. 

 

When Castiel had asked his last question he nodded his satisfaction and closed his laptop deliberately, like punctuation, Dean snapping to attention as he did so. Castiel stood up smoothly so Dean leapt to his feet as well, bagging up Castiel’s laptop at the glance Cas threw him and pretending not to watch as Castiel’s entire body gracefully blocked Alastair from coming anywhere near him, Castiel’s eager smile and offered handshake and his sincere hopes they could work together guileless and charming and just… too damn close, so much so that even Alastair had to take a step backwards, visibly discomfited.

 

Alastair made to offer a parting handshake to Dean and this time Castiel allowed it, stepping unobtrusively out of the way to don his suit coat while offering his  _ sincerest _ apologies that Dean here would be unable to do any training in the allotted timeframe because there simply wouldn’t be time between Castiel adding features to the software and rolling it out to train Dean on it, but Castiel would be more than willing to offer his services instead this one time because it was  _ so _ exciting to work on this new data model. Surely Alastair would accept him as a reasonable substitute, after all, he was  _ writing _ the software, therefore  _ far _ more knowledgeable than Dean could ever be, no offense intended to Dean, of course.

 

Dean stared at Castiel in slightly hurt astonishment for almost an entire second before he remembered he needed to play dumb. “Of course, Castiel,” he nodded solemnly, hanging his head in shame to be so slow and inept. “No offense taken.” He turned to Alastair, his voice sincere and without the slightest quaver.  “I just go where I’m told, sir, Castiel is the real brains of the operation, and Find A Table dot com is lucky to have him.” 

 

Castiel nodded in completely immodest agreement with Dean’s assessment, his credentialing as far more suitable than Dean for any training complete. He offered Alastair a firm, _way_ too close handshake, and Dean watched Alastair struggle to find a way out of the logic trap they had set for him, and ultimately, fail. Alastair nodded at Castiel’s wide-eyed eagerness, accepted his defeat gracefully.

 

“I look forward to working with you, Castiel,” he finally agreed. “It was very nice to see you again, Dean.”

 

Dean nodded pleasantly. “You as well, sir.” He turned helplessly as Castiel physically herded him out the door, Castiel’s lack of social boundaries clearly something everyone at Find A Table dot com worked around because he was brilliant. 

 

***

 

They were inside Baby with the engine running before Dean could relax, his entire body almost going limp with relief as he blew out a breath and pulled away from the curb.

 

“ _ Holy Shit _ Cas, you were  _ fucking amazing _ .”

 

Castiel huffed, shaking his head. “I’ve given myself a headache with this cologne, and I need to eat. Pick us a lunch place, would you Dean?” 

 

“Absolutely. Uh, I have wet-naps? In the glove compartment. Advil, too.”

 

Castiel blew out a breath and rummaged until he found them, tore open several little packets emblazoned with a cartoon chicken to scrub at his neck and ears, wadding up the paper as it dried out and shoving it into his laptop case side compartment. He cracked his window, gulping air as he swallowed advil dry, sighed in relief as Dean pulled up in front of a sandwich shop. 

 

Castiel was silent except to place his order. He ordered a fountain coke with his sandwich, something Dean had never seen him do before, and he gulped half of it down before they even sat down to eat. They picked a small table and ate in silence, Dean worried but not wanting to press, and it wasn’t until Castiel had eaten his entire sandwich, all of his chips, and finished his coke that he sighed and leaned back, his color a little improved, now that Dean could see the comparison. He had been maybe a bit pale in the restaurant, Dean realized.

 

“Are you okay, Cas?” Dean asked carefully, and Castiel nodded.

 

“Yes, thank you, I feel better now. I couldn’t stomach breakfast this morning knowing I’d have to smile at a man who assaulted you.“ Castiel’s face betrayed a brief flash of rage before he smoothed it again, and Dean felt a terribly selfish satisfaction to see it.

 

“ _ Thank you, Cas, _ ” he whispered. “What you did for me in there today...  I don’t even know what to say.”

 

“I was in no danger, Dean.” Castiel waved a hand dismissively. “A man like that is only interested in the conquest; in the thrill of taking what is not offered.” He shook his head. “Well, two can play the game of running roughshod over the unspoken rules that make society pleasant. Or at least tolerable.”

 

Dean sipped his own coke pensively, slurping as his straw hit ice and grinning as Castiel winced. “I was watching the whole time and I’m still not exactly sure what you were doing in there, Cas. Whatever it was, it worked.” His face hoped for an explanation, and Castiel sighed, balling up his sandwich wrapper and prying off the round plastic lid of his coke to stuff it inside, crinkling up his single-serving chip bag to give it the same treatment.

 

“Enticing the abuser, by way of presenting the appearance and elocution of prey, while simultaneously repulsing the bastard by wielding the body language, scent, and I can only assume at this point the flavor, of a predator.” 

 

“ _ Holy Shit! _  That’s  _ exactly _ what you were doing!” Dean’s eyes flared wide in astonishment, and Castiel shrugged.

“Yes. A nauseating little production to stage, but effective. The pervert is confounded by the dissonance, the contract is saved, and best of all, you never have to see him again.” Castiel stared intently at Dean, his face earnest. “If anything like that happens again, no matter the contract size Dean, I want you to understand that you _never_ have to grin and bear it. You are _more important_ than any client account, do you understand?”

 

Dean blew out a breath, shamefaced. “I didn’t mean to let it happen, Cas, I was just so  _ surprised _ … and he’d already let me get through the whole demo and talked a good game about signing on… I guess kind of moving closer the whole time…” Dean shuddered. “When he copped a feel, by then it just felt like it would be easier to pretend I hadn’t noticed. And when he did it again a few minutes later I was too embarrassed I hadn’t done anything the first time.” Dean sighed and looked down at his hands, currently nervously folding his straw into tiny zigzags. “It was barely anything, I shouldn’t be making such a big deal out of it.”

 

“ _No, Dean._ ” The force of Castiel’s whispered hiss startled both of them, and Castiel took a deep breath to calm himself, the fury on his face softening as Dean stared at him in consternation. “ _No one gets to lay a hand on you_ _unless you invite them to_ , _Dean_. _No one._ _Not ever._ ” 

 

Dean studied Castiel’s face carefully, eyes wide. Castiel was trying for calm, but there was a layer of simmering rage just below the surface that Dean somehow found comforting. He took a deep, steadying breath, nodding his agreement. “Okay, Cas. Okay. _ Thank you. _ ”

 

Castiel nodded, his fury deflating in the face of Dean’s acquiescence. “Good. I couldn’t live with myself, thinking my salary, such as it is, was riding on the back of -” He didn’t finish, shaking his head, but Dean nodded seriously. 

 

“It isn’t - it won’t be. I promise.”

 

They stared at each other for a long moment before Castiel broke the spell, standing abruptly to collect his trash. “Come on, we need to get back and give Zachariah the excellent news. After I put my clothes back on.”

 

Dean grinned at him as they returned their trays and threw out their garbage, glancing at Castiel’s chest and then back up to his face with a smirk. “I have a sharpie in the glove compartment. You could draw a big old smile on your stomach instead, see if he notices. Subliminal message him. Make him accidentally have a nice day.”

 

Castiel laughed out loud at Dean’s ridiculous notion. Dean grinned in triumph at the first real laugh he’d pulled out of Castiel all day, and the two of them pushed out the door of the shop in lockstep to make their way to Baby, gleaming on the street.

 

“Is there anything you  _ don’t _ have in your glove compartment, Dean?”

 

“Gloves.”

 

That one made them both giggle, and they climbed into opposite sides of Baby to head back to Mountain View in a mutual heterodyning of giddy mirth, fueled by shared relief that their ordeal was over, their enemy faced, their battle won.

 

 

 


	13. Natural Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little window into Dean's work is dedicated to StellaOO, who was excited to get to see it. Although I had intended to leave it to our imaginations, I had to agree I foreshadowed it enough to leave us wanting, so I added this and now I couldn't possibly live without it. :-) <3

Castiel contentedly sipped his beer and watched Dean play pool, while his brain assimilated new data points into his working hypothesis, reshuffling the entire deck of his mental card catalog labeled “Dean Winchester.”  He’d accompanied Dean to three more meetings since their battle on Tuesday, two of them just today, and they’d spent several hours after each meeting holed up in Dean’s office, working on his demo technique. At least they were on the clock now, Castiel mused, but at the rate Dean was improving, soon Castiel wouldn’t need to go to any meetings to keep an eye on him unless there really were exactly the kind of concerns he’d laid out for Zachariah. Dean was perfectly capable of doing the work, he just needed a crash course in the education he’d had to lie about already having, and he was a bright and curious student; a pleasure to teach. 

 

Castiel grinned at Dean as he sank a particularly complicated shot and Garth groaned in exaggerated distress, and Dean felt him, looking up to grin back, before turning back to the game to bump his shoulder against Garth’s in sympathy. Castiel watched Dean show Garth how to make a similar shot, even though it looked like they had five bucks riding on the game, and he shook his head, smiling softly to himself. 

 

_ This _ was Dean. A genuinely  _ good _ man, with a ridiculously high level of just... natural charm. He wasn’t putting it on, Castiel could see that now, as his mind adjusted the score he’d assigned to Dean’s charisma stat by an order of magnitude. He’d allotted Dean the full twenty points for an adventurer on his mental character sheet, but since they’d had meetings together - with clients who  _ weren’t  _ malignant tumors on society - Castiel’s estimation of Dean’s ability had ratcheted up several notches he didn’t even think he wanted Dean to know about.

 

Dean hadn’t been quite correct in his sheepish self-assessment that he “kind of turned on the charm more,” Castiel was certain about that.  Nor was it just sex appeal - Dean’s effect didn’t seem gender or attraction specific; straight men were not immune to his charm. Dean’s baseline  _ started _ at pleased to meet new people, his undivided attention and genuine interest the most gratifying of interactions; Castiel could see the pleasure it brought. But beyond that, Dean’s eagerness to provide each client with a solution to the problem they hadn’t realized they had was laced with… an unconscious wistfulness. A promise, woven into each enthusiastic sentence and imploring smile, that if they signed on for this service, they would  _ personally _ be responsible for making Dean Winchester  _ extremely happy _ . 

 

He was irresistible. Castiel would have bought the software in a heartbeat if that were in any way possible, just to see Dean happy, and Dean  _ delivered _ . When the client said yes, which the three Castiel had just witnessed had absolutely fallen over themselves to do - even the portly middle-aged restaurateur who Castiel was  _ completely certain _ was straight as an arrow - Dean  _ glowed _ , his eyes dancing with real joy and his palpable delight so lovely Castiel had had to look away, finally, to suppress the gentle ache in his chest that he was not the one who had made Dean smile like that. It was maddening that Dean didn’t even know he was doing it, but Sam had been completely correct. Castiel had  _ not _ seen Dean work until this week, and he was  _ breathtaking _ .

 

Castiel watched Garth sink a complicated winning shot under Dean’s careful tutelage, the pride and pleasure on Garth’s face echoed on Dean’s as he clapped Garth on the back in completely sincere delight for his friend’s success, pressed the waiting stake into Garth’s hand despite his vigorous protests. Castiel watched Garth shoulder his way to the bar to buy a round for himself and Dean, but Dean was glancing at the wall clock, and Castiel’s eye followed Dean’s glance automatically. It was quarter till nine; Sam would be waiting.

 

Dean made his way to Castiel’s table, leaned into Anna for the one-arm hug she reached for, grinning his way around the table and loudly complimenting Garth’s pool skills. Garth appeared with a couple beers to hand one to Dean, who gamely accepted it and toasted Garth’s win with a long, ostentatious pull before setting it down next to Castiel with the slightest of inquiries on his face, but Castiel wrinkled his nose gently, a smile of playful disdain on his lips. Dean smirked and shrugged apologetically, sliding the beer back his own way; the brew hadn’t been his choice. He leaned down to speak directly into Castiel’s ear over the chatter in the bar.

 

“Figured out what we’re making tomorrow night, yet?”

 

Castiel nodded eagerly. “Eggplant parmesan. I’ve never seen how that’s made in person and I bought a casserole dish and a cheese grater... “ He cut himself off, embarrassed to be so eager, but Dean was nodding enthusiastically. 

 

“Oh, man, YESSSSS. And garlic bread?” 

 

Castiel hadn’t considered garlic bread, and he would have to go shopping again for more ingredients to make that happen, but he didn’t hesitate even a millisecond before nodding yes, of course there would be garlic bread, just to see Dean light up with that lovely, palpable delight. 

  
The feeling of being the one to put that joy on Dean’s face was every bit as wonderful as Castiel had imagined it would be, and he savored it, tucking it away in his chest as Dean drained his beer, bid the table goodnight, and strode rapidly out the door to collect his Baby and his not-so-little brother.

 

 


	14. Halloween

Halloween fell on a Thursday this year. Castiel hadn’t paid any attention at work - yes, Anna had been wearing little cat ears on a headband and that made perfect sense now, but there had been Halloween candy in the breakroom in a big plastic pumpkin with a handle on it for weeks as all their routines smoothed out - to a huge collective sigh of relief - now that Castiel’s work arrangement with Dean was finally working smoothly. He hadn’t paid attention to the actual date.  Castiel certainly noticed at  _ Sugar Tonight _ , however, the place was crawling with college students overflowing from neighboring bars, the frat brothers in lazy costumes and the young women in every variation of “sexy professional” he could have gone a lifetime without seeing; you couldn’t move for scantily-clad nurses and cops and, in one case, a scantily-clad lion tamer with a frat-boy tiger on a leash. Castiel ordered a double bourbon on the rocks and a good beer to chase it, and slowly made his way through the unwelcome interlopers to get to his friends at their usual table. The rest of his team had gotten there early enough to stake it out while he finished up some coding, and had stacked jackets on the back of a chair to hold it for him. Castiel sank into his perch gratefully, and raised his voice to be heard over the din.

 

“Thanks for saving me a spot!”

 

“What?” yelled Anna.

 

“Thanks for SAVING MY SPOT!”

 

“HE SAID YOU LOOK HOT!” Ash yelled at Anna, grinning broadly. 

 

Castiel rolled his eyes at Ash but grinned at Anna. “You DO LOOK HOT, Anna!” he yelled. 

 

Anna grinned and batted her eyelashes. She was fully decked out as a kitten, the kitty ears from before but now also a black bodysuit, tail, and whiskers drawn on her face in eyeliner. She was  _ adorable _ .

 

Castiel waved at Garth and Jesse; there was no way they could hear him on the other side of the table. They waved back, Garth shrugging his shoulders and grinning. Castiel turned to find Dean in the crowd, scanning the pool table area but there was no room to play pool, no room for cues to maneuver in the crowd, no room for Dean to bend over the table lining up a shot, no room for Dean to preen under Castiel’s admiration of his skill at the game.

 

When Castiel had started watching and Dean had... seemed to like it, Castiel had had to be very careful not to stare at Dean’s body. Now, he realized, his appreciation for Dean was for his friend, the man Dean was, and while Dean was somehow even more beautiful to him than before, it was easy for him to keep his eyes on Dean’s pool game and on his face, no longer a struggle not to rake his eyes over Dean’s arms or chest or back. He just… didn’t want to anymore.

 

Castiel cast his eyes in a wider circle, but his attention was drawn to Anna as she groaned “Ohhhh I can’t watch,” and he looked where she had been looking.

 

Oh,  _ there _ Dean was, and he was playing a different game tonight. He was leaning up against the bar on the other end from where Castiel had ordered, making eyes at a stunning brunette co-ed dressed as a sexy Mummy. She had Mummy bandages strategically covering a small fraction of her impressive chest, wrapping around her taut stomach, and managing to reveal more than they covered as they wrapped down the rest of her shapely body.  

 

Castiel would have admired the artistry of her costume if she weren’t staring up at Dean, leaning in close to speak to him, batting her eyelashes, her smile flashing white, her lips blood red. She was laughing at everything he said, her eyes sparkling and her manicured fingers complete with long black fingernails playing with the shaft of her cocktail glass - either unconsciously or incredibly consciously offering Dean the same. Castiel felt something he did not understand twist his stomach, and he frowned, picking at the feeling with his mind, pulling at the edges of it to try to figure out what it meant.

 

Dean felt the weight of Castiel looking at him the moment the familiar pleasure he could not name curled in his chest, but he was  _ very _ distracted by the gorgeous girl making eyes at him and leaning her buxom chest into his chest. She felt warm against his side and she smelled really good and he hadn’t been with anyone in months. It was difficult to get a lot of alone time living in one room with his brother. He felt Castiel look away, and by the time he looked up, Castiel was staring at his table, scowling a little.  

 

Dean briefly wondered if Cas was okay but was distracted again when the girl - what was her name, she had said it - Alison? Alice? He knew it started with an A -  _ shit _ , she was leaning into him, she was pressing her barely dressed body against him, hollering up at him did he want to get out of here - go back to her place - yes, yes he did want that very badly and Sammy could damn well wait an extra hour. She was dragging him by the hand when he felt the weight of Cas looking at him again and he turned to share a victory grin, but although Castiel was watching him, he didn’t offer that approving smile Dean craved at this particular victory. Castiel had a weird look on his face that Dean couldn’t place and then Cas looked away abruptly, which stung a bit but Allie? Alesha? was dragging him away and he turned to follow the gorgeous girl out to the parking lot, shepherd her under his arm toward his car, open the door for her like a gentleman, preen at her squeal of delight at his Baby, ask her “Where to?” and then he was well and truly - and  _ very _ pleasantly - distracted for several hours after that.

 

Castiel couldn’t pull up his mood after Dean left. He finished his drinks sullenly, much faster than usual. He couldn’t hear anything his friends tried to say to him and saw no point in remaining in the bar so he shouted goodbye and made his way through the milling crowd of costumed revelers to get to the parking lot. What he didn’t expect when he got out the door was to find Anna at his elbow, surfing his wake to get to the door easily behind him.

 

“Come on,” she said, “We need to talk.”

 

“What for?” Castiel asked grumpily, heading towards his car as she followed.

 

Anna maneuvered herself in front of him, blocking his car door.

 

“We’re friends, right Castiel?”

 

“Yes, Anna.”

 

“You’re hard to read sometimes Castiel. I care about you a lot, and I hope you know that. Are we close friends, or casual friends, Castiel?”

 

Castiel paused, taken aback.

 

“I have very few friends Anna. I believe you are my closest friend.”

 

“See, I wasn’t sure, but I thought that might be the case.  So, as your best friend there are certain responsibilities that fall to me, and talking you through things like I saw tonight is one of them. It is my sacred duty and you must allow it, or I have failed you.” She smiled at him winningly, utterly irresistible with her giant pleading eyes and her little kitten ears and drawn-on cat whiskers.  “Your car, or mine?”

 

Castiel sighed. He could not refute her logic, but he could refuse sitting in her tiny battery-driven Prius. “Mine.” Anna grinned and he walked her around to the passenger side, opened the door, closed it for her. He joined her reluctantly, sliding into the driver’s seat, and tossing his coat into the back seat.

 

“What’s up, Anna?”

 

“Do you trust me, Castiel?”

 

Castiel thought about that carefully. Anna’s face and body language always matched what she said out loud, and he had never seen her gossip. She was smart, and funny, and he was fond of her. “Yes, I do,” he decided.

 

“Good, because I am going to ask you some very personal questions now and I want you to understand that what we talk about will never leave this car. You don’t have to answer anything but I see you struggling to understand what you are feeling and I think I can help.” Anna put her hand on Castiel’s and he stared at it, nonplussed, as she continued. “Cas I double-majored. My other degree is in psychology. I’m not just winging it, I can actually be helpful.”

 

“You don’t have to credential your helpfulness Anna,” Castiel replied wryly, “I trust you. Just do whatever you’re going to do...”  the rest of the sentence “and get it over with” was implied, but Anna caught it and laughed. 

 

“Alright alright, I’ll be quick Cas. Are you in love with Dean Winchester?”

 

“What? No!”

 

Anna watched Castiel’s face carefully, but found no attempt at deception, just surprise.

 

“Hmm, Okay, well that would have been the easiest answer. Let’s try a different label.

Do you have a crush on Dean Winchester?”

 

Castiel stared at her, thinking furiously. He turned the definition of crush over in his mind as he understood it, and didn’t see a way to make that fit either.  “I don’t think so, Anna.”

 

“But you’re not sure?” She studied his face, searching for understanding.

 

“I don’t think so. I’ve never had a crush on anyone and I don’t think I have one now, but I don’t know how to tell. My heart doesn’t race, my stomach doesn’t have nerves, I don’t feel any sort of puppy infatuation as far as I can tell…”

 

Anna bubbled with laughter, patting Castiel’s hand. “Oh, Honey, Okay Okay let me try to approach this a different way.”

 

“Castiel are you gay?”

 

“Yes I am,” Castiel nodded slowly, “but what would make you think so?”

 

“Well,” Anna answered seriously, “besides the stereotypes of your being fit and good-looking and a bachelor who lives in San Francisco, nothing. I’ve never seen you look at a woman with anything I’d take as interest, but I’ve never seen you look at a man with interest either.” She looked Castiel earnestly in the eye. “But you look at Dean.”

 

“I watch him play pool, Anna, he doesn’t mind.” Castiel looked uncomfortable.

 

“I know,” Anna said soothingly. “He likes it, actually.”

 

Castiel thought about that. He had thought so but he couldn’t be sure and Anna confirming it made him feel something… nice. It felt nice.

 

“Castiel,” Anna asked carefully, “Are you attracted to Dean?”

 

“No.” Anna stared at Castiel in disbelief, but he was serious. She smiled up at him, her eyes wide. “How can that man not be your type Castiel? Not to put too fine a point on it, but do you have  _ eyes _ ?”

 

Castiel sighed. “Yes Anna, I have eyes. You misunderstand me, yes of course I find Dean exceptionally appealing to look at. But that isn’t what people mean when they say attracted.”

 

“No, you’re right,” Anna agreed. “I’ll be more precise. Cas, do you perhaps, maybe, just possibly want to be the one blowing off a little steam with Dean tonight?”

 

“No.” Castiel answered immediately, without hesitation. 

 

Anna watched Castiel carefully, but he was candid and serious, and Anna’s face grew puzzled. “Curiouser and Curiouser,” she mused out loud. 

 

“Okay, you don’t have to answer this one, but when was the last time you had sex?”

 

“I don’t know, Anna.” Castiel thought for a moment and his face fell; his lips made a flat line. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“Alright, I’m sorry Castiel. I don’t mean to pry, but it’s relevant. Let me ask a different question. Do you enjoy having sex with men?”

 

“No.”  The answer came immediately. Castiel was clearly getting tired of this line of questioning, but he was still being honest, and Anna stared at him, gears turning in her head. “Then how do you know you’re gay, Cas?”

 

Castiel was exasperated now. “I like looking at men’s bodies, Anna. I find them arousing in a way I don’t find women’s bodies arousing. But no, I don’t want to touch them. I… tried, and then I stopped trying, and I am celibate now so none of this matters.”

 

“Of course it matters, Cas,” Anna said gently. “You _ get  _ to be who you are. You are a wonderful human being and I want to understand so I can help you understand. Because it was jealousy, Cas. You were jealous of that girl.”

 

Castiel considered carefully, the way his stomach had twisted watching Dean with the girl, the sour, heavy feeling in his stomach when Dean had looked at him and smiled as he followed her out.  “How… how is that possible if I don’t want Dean sexually?” Castiel asked, bewildered. 

 

“It could just be his time you were jealous of,” Anna answered gently, “but that’s not what it looked like to me. You obviously care about Dean, and he cares about you. On Thursday nights Dean plays pool so that you’ll smile at him when he wins. Tonight he left with a pretty girl instead, and that didn’t feel like a win to you. It wasn’t something you could celebrate with him.”  Anna smiled at Castiel and patted his hand. “We’ll figure it out, okay? Hang in there.”

 

“I’m fine Anna.” Castiel retorted. “Are we done now?”  

 

“Yes.” Anna answered, frowning a little.

 

Castiel relented. “I’m sorry Anna. I appreciate your taking the time to help me understand. I couldn’t figure out what I was feeling but you’re right, it  _ was _ jealousy, and I’m glad to know that, even if it’s not logical.”

 

Anna smiled at him gently. “Feelings are rarely logical Cas, that’s the problem.”

 

“Yes,” sighed Castiel. “It is a problem.”

 

Anna grinned and leaned over to hug him, and he hugged her back gently, trusting she’d let go when it was long enough. She did.

 

“Okay I’m out of here, see you tomorrow Cas!”

 

“Good night, Anna.” 

 

Anna climbed out of Castiel’s car, closed the door firmly, and danced her way back into the bar, twirling her tail in one hand. Castiel smiled watching her, and started up his beast.  He thought about the meaning of jealousy the whole drive home, wondering from every angle why it had been so upsetting when Dean’s eyes had gone soft and his lips had parted as the pretty girl leaned up to ask him a question, why his stomach had felt so heavy and sour when Dean grinned at him before following the girl out of the bar. He should be pleased for his friend. 

 

As Castiel pulled into his driveway he decided that he might not be able to control his feelings, but he could certainly control his behavior.  He would not let such feelings show to Dean again. It was both unfair and poor show of friendship to behave cooly towards Dean for acting on his completely natural impulses to spend time with a beautiful woman. Dean was an attractive young man more than a decade his junior, in what science claimed was likely his sexual peak, living with his brother in a single room. 

 

Castiel sighed and felt terribly selfish. Dean did not owe him his Thursday nights, and he was going to have to be a better friend about this sort of thing if he wanted to continue to be in Dean’s life, which, he acknowledged carefully to himself, he wanted very much.  As Castiel climbed his front steps and unlocked his front door he vowed to act pleased for his friend, the way he should feel, and not to allow himself to acknowledge the negative feelings if they came again. He shut his front door resolutely, locking the jealousy outside, and crossed the kitchen to rummage in his fridge to see if he had leftovers or needed to find a takeout menu.

 

 


	15. All Saints’ Day

Dean remembered the look on Castiel’s face on his drive to work Friday morning, after dropping Sam off at school. Sam had texted him he was at a party and could Dean pick him up at midnight last night, so Dean hadn’t even had to make any explanations of his whereabouts, a little gift of serendipity the universe saw fit to drop in his lap along with that smoking hot brunette.  He sighed and reminisced, tucking away his favorite bits for instant replay in the shower later, and only when he had reeled back the tape to the bar did he remember the way Castiel had scowled down at his drink, how he had turned away abruptly when Dean smiled at him on his way out. 

 

Dean replayed the moment carefully in his mind, ignoring the sting, and focusing on how Castiel’s face had looked. Puzzled, but also hurt. Or jealous. Dean considered carefully what he could have done to make Cas feel hurt or jealous - Castiel was an incredibly attractive man, who had just a few weeks ago teasingly told Dean that he could be hard to resist, so he  _ had _ to know how good-looking he was. The girls in the bar might have been a little young for his tastes - Dean had no idea what Castiel’s type might be - but he was also positive Cas could have easily walked up to any one of them he wanted and they would have fallen over themselves to join him in his pimpmobile. He probably didn’t even have to make small talk, he could just give them that single arched eyebrow and they’d be drooling. Dean felt inexplicably warm thinking about it and rolled his window down an inch for some air.

 

Dean compared other Thursday nights with this one in his mind, and as he pulled into the parking garage he figured out the difference. Usually he left just before nine. Last night he left early, must have been a couple hours early because it had barely gotten dark before the college kids came out to play; Halloween was a pretty solid excuse to drink and party as early as possible on a weeknight. Usually he played pool and Cas seemed to like to watch him - his chest bloomed that soft pleasure thinking about it - and they hadn’t been able to do that last night. He’d had a lovely distraction, but Castiel must have been disappointed by the change. 

 

Instead of feeling badly about it, Dean felt a soft, warm satisfaction spreading in his chest at this logical confirmation that he wasn’t imagining it, Castiel liked watching him play pool as much as he liked Cas watching him. It felt... nice. He shied away from examining it too closely and just enjoyed the nice feeling for a minute as he locked his car and walked up to his office. Alright, he decided, he’d find a way to apologize to Cas for standing him up for a thing neither of them had explicitly agreed to - but both kind of expected now - without making it weird.

 

***

 

Castiel arrived at work on Friday a little early so he would have time to pick up ingredients for dinner on the way home but still have time for a run before Sam and Dean showed up that evening. He was deeply engrossed in ferreting out a recalcitrant bit of logic when Dean popped his face around the corner of his cubicle wall, knocking as he did so but still startling the bejeezus out of Castiel, who yelped. Castiel held up an index finger in the universal sign for “just a minute,” and shut his eyes to do several rounds of slow breathing exercises - in through his nose, hold his breath, slooowly out through his mouth - until the panic abated and his heartbeat calmed down enough to speak.  “Yes, Dean?” he asked finally, his voice shaking a little but mostly steady, his other hand white from gripping his armrest as he opened his eyes to look up at Dean.

 

Dean was a study in remorse, eyes wide and hands clasped tightly together, staring at Castiel in distress. “I’m  _ so  _ sorry Cas, I didn’t even think about surprising you being a really shitty thing to do, especially, uh…” he trailed off, Castiel’s confidence about going to counseling not a thing he even dared say out loud.  

 

“It’s okay Dean, happens all the time,” Castiel assured him, which did not actually make Dean feel any better at all. Castiel smiled ruefully at Dean’s dismay and waved a hand. “Let it go. I’m not worried about it and I don’t want you to be either. What can I do for you?”

 

“Oh, uh, I just wanted to apologize for leaving early last night, I know we usually hang out and play pool - I mean, I play pool and you... “ Dean couldn’t bring himself to say “watch,” but Castiel looked worried and guilty now so Dean continued as smoothly as he could manage “and you, uh, you kinda root for the home team.”  This explanation satisfied both of them and Castiel nodded and smiled up at Dean, pleased. Dean returned his smile shyly and continued hesitantly “Uh, I didn’t mean to kinda stand you up last night, I know we never talked about it or made formal plans but we’ve been basically hanging out every Thursday since I started working here and I could tell I bummed you out by blowing you off last night and I’m sorry, Cas.”

 

Castiel was startled. Dean had not only noticed his poor behavior, but he’d remembered, and come to apologize even though he had done nothing wrong. Castiel sighed, and attempted some revisionist history. “No, Dean, I’m the one who should apologize. I was in a bad mood and I took it out on you. I was happy for you, you should be with whoever you like and it was rude of me to let my bad mood leak out and affect my behavior towards you.”  He smiled at Dean, a genuine, convincing smile that reached the corners of his eyes.

 

Dean stared at Castiel in surprise, carefully steeling his face to give nothing away. Castiel had never lied to him before, and if they hadn’t spent so much time together lately, he would never have picked up on the slight dissonance now. But Dean had spent a lot of time studying Castiel when he started working here, and even more since, and he  _ knew _ this face. He knew the slight changes that meant Castiel was worried or hiding mirth or pleased or proud - and he knew when Castiel was upset, and Dean had upset Castiel last night.  His face had fallen specifically when he saw Dean leaving early, and his eyes said he didn’t want to admit it now. 

 

Well, alright, he wouldn’t press the point then, because Castiel had also basically admitted that he enjoyed watching Dean play pool, and that part had been one hundred percent sincere. Dean could work with that. He smiled gently down at Castiel and accepted both the lie and the apology with a nod and “That’s okay, Cas,” watched Castiel’s face register relief.  He couldn’t help himself, adding, “I missed hanging out with you. Next week I’ll clean up at that table, promise,” just to see Castiel’s face light up and to get a real smile this time, a dazzling thing made of sparkling white teeth and eye crinkles and joy. Dean’s answering smile rivaled the sun, and they stared at each other in delight for maybe a couple seconds too long before Dean shuffled his feet and made leaving motions.

 

“Text me a grocery list before I head out?” Castiel reminded Dean.

 

“Yes I will, Sam’s choice tonight you cannot blame me for this. Is seven o’clock okay?”  Dean asked.

 

“Yes, perfect.” Castiel nodded as he turned back to his coding. Dean grinned at him and rapped on the cubicle wall with his knuckles on his way out, mentally adding sneaky butter calories to Sam’s menu request, and quietly storing away the confirmation that Castiel liked to watch him win pool in the same place the pleasure he could not name lived in his chest.

 

 


	16. November, First Thursday

The next pool night Castiel did not work late. He arrived before the rest of his team for a change, to stake out his perch at _Sugar Tonight_ , a bourbon in his hand and a buzzing adrenaline in his veins. This was probably the dozenth time he’d come here since Dean started working for FindATable dot com, but tonight felt different because now he knew for certain that Dean enjoyed when he watched him play pool - had given him an explicit invitation to continue, in fact, last week - and that Dean _missed_ him when they hadn’t done this last week. All of that felt kind of titillating and made him a little nervous to boot.

 

Castiel was early enough to see Dean arrive, perfection in a suit - the charcoal gray one this time, with a pink dress shirt and gray satin tie - purposefully striding in the door to saunter up to the bar. Dean ordered two craft beers, brought them over to join Castiel at his table, smiled at him, slid one of the beers his way. Well _that_ had never happened before. Dean grinned at him and Castiel grinned back, and they each took a swallow from their respective bottles. Dean had chosen a brand he’d seen Castiel buy but hadn’t tried before. It was dark and rich and Dean raised an eyebrow at Castiel in appreciation, savoring the aftertaste as it changed a little on the back of his tongue. “This is fantastic, Cas.”

 

“I have excellent taste, Dean.” Castiel deadpanned, “unlike some people.” He managed to successfully look both haughty and serious for several seconds until Dean punched him in the arm lightly and he broke, grinning.

 

“It’s easy to have great taste when you can afford it,” Dean observed wryly. “But, y’know,”  Dean offered saucily, batting his eyelashes theatrically, “feel free to buy me as many rounds as you like, Daddy Warbucks. ”

 

Castiel choked on his beer, and Dean watched him completely unsympathetically, grinning smugly while Castiel coughed into a bar napkin to clear his windpipe.

 

“Okay FIRST of all,” Castiel began, “Good alcohol is worth making sacrifices for.”  Dean nodded, grinning and taking another pull; he couldn’t argue that point.

 

“AND, B...” Castiel declared, just to get another smile out of Dean before continuing, “I am not _remotely_ old enough to be your father in any polite version of society...”  Dean beamed at Castiel, his smile growing by degrees, until Castiel raised one eyebrow in challenge. Dean’s smile froze, his eyes growing wide instead, as Castiel continued sternly “And in any other circumstance where that title would be appropriate, it is nevertheless my understanding that you must _obtain an invitation_ before you call a man who is not your father ‘Daddy’. I do not recall having proffered any such invitation, Dean.”

 

It was Dean’s turn to choke, far worse than Castiel had, if the redness in his face was any indication when he was done coughing and he attempted to look Castiel in the eye. Castiel held his gaze calmly while the red in Dean’s face traveled to the tips of his ears and he stared at Castiel, speechless, until he couldn’t hold the eye contact and looked away again, his face crimson. A moment passed, and then another, with Dean refusing to meet Castiel’s eyes, chewing his bottom lip, his shoulders shaking a little, until Castiel began to worry he’d actually upset Dean, and his face fell. “I’m just teasing, Dean,” he apologized quietly. Dean looked at him then, lifting his head to meet Castiel’s eyes at last, and there was such mischief on his face, Castiel realized he wasn’t upset at all. If anything, he was delighted.

 

Castiel couldn’t stop himself; it just came out. “You may call me Daddy if it means that much to you, Dean,” he allowed, his face completely serious, but the bark of pure joy that came bursting out of Dean, his delight pure and contagious, pulled Castiel’s laughter bubbling out of his chest, and that was how Castiel’s software team found them several minutes later, polishing off their beers and giggling like children over their own hilarity.

 

Anna clucked like a mother hen, grinning at the two of them as Castiel’s friends descended around the table, drinks in hand, dragging over chairs when the four at the table were full until six faces were circled in companionship and libation. “What have we here?” Anna asked cheerfully, “Castiel is early? And what are you two giggling about?” Castiel and Dean looked at each other and dissolved into fresh snickering. Dean started to say “Cas says I can call hi- “ but Castiel broke in firmly “Nothing,” and Dean fell silent, still smirking, but respecting Castiel’s decree.  

 

Anna watched them both carefully, delighted.  “Better grab your pool table, Dean.” She pointed as a pack of bros wandered into the bar and Dean scrambled to claim his table, stripping his suit jacket to toss over the chair he had been sitting in as he hightailed it to grab a pool cue and bait his trap, innocently leaning over to flub a couple practice shots as the frat boys circled, sensing easy prey in a pink dress shirt and suit pants.

 

Small talk descended over Castiel’s table, arguments over who had a worse customer service story to share for the week, the clink of ice in glasses, but Castiel was oblivious to it all, his entire attention on Dean. Dean was on _fire_ tonight. He reeled them in with clueless white guy bravado, showing just enough chops to look like a proud weekend warrior. He lost and barely won and lost again, his drunken bravado increasing at a rate Castiel knew for a fact was not remotely commensurate with the rate at which he was ostentatiously drinking. He goaded the boys into double or nothing, nodding at the gorgeous - beefy -  bartender who stepped in to warn these boys that Dean here was not to be trifled with - he played pool here once a week for at _least_ two hours every time, and he’d been getting pretty good at it. There were jeers and general scoffing at this endorsement, and the bartender offered to put twenty bucks on the game himself if the participants would all put in another twenty, and to hold the bet to make it all official and whatnot.

 

Of course the frat boys would take the bartender’s money, gladly. More twenties went into the pot, the money disappeared behind the bar, and _only then_ did Dean let his inner shark out to play. He didn’t barely win tonight, he didn’t pretend it was a fluke, he _cleaned house_ , all pretense at alcohol-induced hand tremors or slurring magically gone, along with the frat boys’ chances of seeing their money again. Castiel was entranced, and he wasn’t the only one. His entire table and half the patrons in the bar watched Dean with their mouths practically hanging open as he expertly lined up shot after shot, calling them out one by one in his rich baritone and following through flawlessly.  

 

Dean never missed a single shot, smiling fiercely as he killed it, oblivious to all eyes on him except for the one pair he could feel pressing heavily on his awareness, curling warmth in his chest.  He didn’t look at Castiel until he had cleared the table, the frat boys never even getting to take a single shot. Then, in a chorus of groans from the frat boys and a huge round of applause from everyone else, he took a single exaggerated bow, doffing an imaginary hat as he did so, and turned to smile at the only face he was playing for.

 

Castiel’s eyes were wide, his pupils enormous in the dark room.  Castiel shook his head in disbelief, his smile huge, his approval palpable. Dean grinned back proudly, the rush of pleasure washing over him rendering him momentarily breathless, then he turned to call out to the bartender loudly “Mike, these boys are drinking on me tonight, all night, anything domestic on tap!” This perked the frat boys up tremendously and Dean leaned in to their leader, grinning conspiratorially. “Twenty percent of the take is yours next week guys, if you bring some friends and tell them there’s no way they can beat me, ” Dean offered.  The frat boys whooped and descended on the bar with huge grins on their faces, fully on board with passing the humiliation on down the line, while Castiel marvelled at Dean’s incredible skill at fleecing people and making them like it.

 

Castiel watched Dean glide up to the bar to order two more bottles of dark beer, but his stomach twisted unexpectedly to see the same girl as last week approach Dean, utterly gorgeous in street clothes - painted-on jeans, cowboy boots and a clinging blouse, her fingernails bright red this time. She smiled up at him and he smiled down at her in surprise as she leaned in to him, asked him a question. Castiel couldn’t look away, his chest inexplicably tight, but Dean shook his head at her gently, smiling, leaned down to speak in her ear, tilt his head towards the table where Cas was sitting. He was here with a friend.

 

The girl looked at Castiel, who didn’t have the time to pretend he wasn’t watching so he did nothing. He kept his expression as neutral as he could, but he truly had no idea what his face was doing; this was outside the realm of his experience. She looked from Castiel to Dean and pouted fetchingly, disappointed. Dean bent down to whisper something that made her smile again, blushing a little, and she looked mollified as Dean squeezed her chastely with one arm, smiled a goodbye, and walked over to rejoin Castiel. Dean slid Castiel a beer and reclaimed his seat to a chorus of hoots and hollers.

 

Ash was all smiles, clapping Dean on the back and hollering “REMATCH, Dean! You were holding out on me! I took it EASY on you!!!” Dean assured him next time he’d go all in, promise. Dean smiled and glad-handed and let the small talk wash over him, but when it died down he finally turned to the face whose steady gaze had not left him once all night, and his smile was soft and shy. “Better?” he asked quietly.

 

Castiel was puzzled for a second until he had the horrifying realization that Dean meant “Better than last week?”   _Dean was making up to him for last week_. He hadn't believed the excuse Castiel had made. Castiel felt terribly ashamed and immensely gratified at the same time, emotions that played across his face in real time as he struggled to compose himself, looking away from Dean for the first time the entire evening in embarrassment.  

 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Dean murmured, reaching out to press his hand on Castiel’s wrist in a soothing gesture. Both men were immediately drawn to stare at his hand where it was touching Castiel’s wrist, crackling tension passing invisibly between them where Dean’s fingers gently rested on Castiel’s skin.

 

Castiel stared at Dean’s fingers. “I’m sorry I lied,” he apologized softly. “I was upset when you left early even though I have no right to any claim on your time.” He studied Dean’s hand, his eyes downcast and his forehead creased in distress. “I didn't want you to know.”

 

“I know,” Dean answered gently. “I’m smarter than I look.” That got at least part of the smile he was hoping for, and he continued softly, only loud enough for Castiel to hear, “I _like_ hanging out with you, Cas. If you want my time you only gotta say the word.” He squeezed Castiel’s wrist once and removed his hand. Castiel watched Dean’s hand retreat across the table to his beer and his eyes now dared to make the trip up the bottle to Dean’s face.

 

Dean was smiling gently, and Castiel slowly smiled back, relieved. He was forgiven. Dean pointed at the clock and Castiel nodded. He smiled to himself as Dean swallowed the rest of his beer, made his goodbyes and promises of rematches, collected his cut from Mike at the bar, settled his tab. Dean left a generous amount for the frat boys, which he waved at them, pointing at the taps to general whoops before handing the cash back to Mike and striding swiftly out.

 

Castiel turned to the table as Dean disappeared out the door.  Ash grinned at him and observed wryly “Hey Cas, nice of you to join us!”

 

“Pardon?” Castiel looked confused.

 

“Cut it out Ash,” Anna interceded. “We were all watching Dean. Don’t give Cas shit, your mouth was hanging open the whole time.”

 

“Truth.” Garth chimed in. “Mine was too, that dude put on a hell of a show tonight.”

 

There were general nods of agreement all around and then the conversation resumed where it had left off, a rousing argument over the merits of various game weaponry in a game Castiel was not familiar with. Anna leaned in close to Castiel and spoke for just his ears. “I’m glad you two worked it out. Looks like Dean chose you tonight.”

 

Castiel stared at her in confusion. “We agreed to hang out. Dean noticed I was upset when he left early last week, and even though it wasn’t his fault he apologized and promised not to leave early this week.”  He thought about it for a minute while Anna’s face registered surprise, then extreme interest. “Did you come up with a theory, Anna?” Castiel asked hopefully, “About last week? Why I felt… upset?”

 

“I do have a theory,” Anna nodded, “but I am gathering more data points for my hypothesis.” Castiel knew that look, she would say no more about it until she was ready. He didn’t even try to press her, just sighed and nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”

 

“My pleasure, Cas. Really.” She grinned at him sweetly and patted his hand. Castiel smiled at her. Anna’s touch was welcome and her hand was soft and warm, but it did not crackle across his skin like Dean’s had, nor did it leave his hand tingling when she removed hers.

 

He listened to the conversation buzzing around him, interjected where he could, ordered another beer to drink with his friends, but his mind was lost savoring the triumphant smile Dean had flashed him after winning, the way Dean’s eyes had sparkled at his approval, that soft shy smile Dean had offered when he had asked “Better?”  He thought about the way his skin had tingled where Dean touched his wrist. He could still feel it now, as though Dean had left fingerprints on his skin.

 

Castiel didn’t know how to make any of those things happen again, but they were all perfect and he replayed them over and over to write them permanently to long-term storage in his mind’s growing folder of happy memories. He had a fleeting thought that he was making a lot of happy memories lately, more than he had in a long time, but he immediately shied away from looking at that too closely. It was too dangerous, he didn’t want to fire up any synapses better left undisturbed, didn’t want anything safely suppressed to come tumbling out making trouble right now. This was a good day; let it stay a good day.

 

Castiel successfully returned his train of thought to Dean, adding to his little file of happiness the moment when Dean shook his head no at the gorgeous girl and nodded towards him instead. Taken out for inspection, that one filled him with a fierce joy; it burned bright and hot and he felt guilty as hell about it. Nothing about that moment should feel so good, but he tucked it away to treasure anyway. No one else ever had to know his guilty pleasures.

 

The hour grew late and the party broke up. Castiel dreamily wished his friends goodnight as Anna threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. “You deserve to be happy, Cas,” she whispered in his ear. Castiel was puzzled, but he thanked her anyway, fired up his Old Lady, and drove home completely on autopilot, fondly watching Dean smile at him over and over in his mind’s eye.

 

***

 

Dean pulled up to the Stanford library to collect Sam with a smile playing at the corner of his lips, riding the adrenaline high of crushing those frat boys with the heavy weight of Castiel’s watchful gaze curling around his chest. It had never felt so intense before, usually the feeling came and went over the course of a pool game as Castiel either chatted with his friends or, Dean suspected, looked away when Dean turned to face him so he wouldn’t know Cas had been watching the whole time. Tonight Castiel had given him his undivided attention, and it had been... intoxicating. A little ripple of gooseflesh raced up Dean’s arms and around the back of his neck just thinking about it. Sam pulled open the door and folded himself into the passenger seat, heaving his backpack between them into the back seat as he slouched into the upholstery and took in Dean’s face.  “What’re you grinning about?” Sam asked, smiling just to see his brother happy.

 

Dean found himself at a loss to explain himself. “Cas said I could call him Daddy” did not exactly roll off the tongue as a viable sentence in any universe, no matter how funny it had been, nor did “Cas watched me play pool all night and I liked it.”  he rubbed the back of his neck as he pulled into traffic, searching, and Sam exclaimed, “Did you find a girl? Before nine pm on a Thursday? Jeez, Dean!”

 

“No, no,” Dean assured Sam, “nothing like that, I just had a good night. Sharked some frat boys for a couple bills, they’ll be bringing me fresh meat next week, hung out with Cas -”  

 

“Right, of course,” Sam interjected, grinning. “You were showing off for Cas, weren’t you. Was he impressed?”

 

Dean’s smile shone brighter than Baby’s headlights. “Fuck yeah he was Sammy, you should have seen him.”

 

Sam quietly extended a fist, and Dean bumped it with his own, smiling softly. Dean pushed in the cassette that was sticking halfway out of the player, and they rode the rest of the way home to Zeppelin blaring out of Baby’s warm, ancient speakers.

 

 


	17. Should I Get a Turkey?

The second week of November, Dean opened his Monday morning work email to find a company-wide notice that politely let everyone know that while they were sorry there could be no lavish Holiday bonuses this year as in years past, the sales team was doing well, and to celebrate, leadership had decided to provide a complimentary (Organic! Cruelty-Free!) Thanksgiving turkey two weeks from today to anyone who requested one by the end of the week. Just reply “Yes” to this email!  Dean rolled his eyes and thought “You’re Welcome.” What the hell was he going to do with a whole turkey, microwave it? He was about to delete the email when he remembered José complaining that his Mom was watching him a lot more closely after school. An inquiry into what he had done to deserve it resulted in protestations of innocence and José had grumbled that his Mom’s boss had cut her hours now that his son was old enough to work. Maybe Maria could use a turkey, and if not, Mrs Rodriguez could probably do something magical with one. Why not? He replied “Yes Please,” and thought no more about it as he made his morning calls. 

 

At lunchtime Dean pulled on his suit coat and was just pulling his office door open when Castiel materialized in his doorway, looking uncertain. 

 

“What’s up Cas? Do you need to cancel lunch?” Dean asked.

 

“No, I like when you’re in the office and we have lunch,” Castiel answered distractedly, chewing his lip.

 

“I like it too,” Dean answered, quirking an eyebrow. “Spit it out, man, I don’t bite.”

 

Castiel fidgeted uncharacteristically and finally managed to look Dean in the eye, his face torn. “Should I get a turkey?” 

 

Dean stared at Castiel completely baffled, mystified as to why this decision required his input unless… Oh! 

 

“Do you not have plans for Thanksgiving, Cas?” Dean asked gently.

 

Castiel shook his head, his forehead creased in concern. “I don’t mean to impose Dean, I’m sure you and Sam have plans and it’s rude of me to - I’ll donate it, that’s what I’ll do. Don’t worry about it, let’s get our sandwiches.” He turned to go but Dean grabbed his arm to stay him and he turned back, his face downcast.

 

“We do  _ not _ have plans Cas.” Dean informed him firmly. “Sam’s break isn’t long enough to visit Bobby and Sam’s flipping out about studying for his finals anyway, no way I could stuff him in a car for days on end right now. If you’re inviting us, we are SO cooking that turkey at your place. And stuffing. And apple pie. And mashed potatoes. And cherry pie. And gravy. And blueberry pie.” Dean was starting to salivate, his eyes wide and dreamy, and Castiel’s earlier dejection at overstepping Dean’s family boundaries became a delighted smile instead, wide and bright.

 

“Yes, Dean, I am absolutely inviting you. Will you please come to my house and cook me Thanksgiving Dinner?” Castiel shook his head, grinning at the preposterousness of the invitation, and Dean laughed out loud, his bark of delight shockingly loud in the quiet hallway. He covered his mouth in belated concern, grinning.

 

“We’ll be there. Sam is gonna shit himself with excitement,” Dean enthused, this time in a whisper, and they made tracks to get their sandwiches, their slight delay costing them a considerable line by the time they got to the deli. It was a sunny day, but brisk, so they still had their choice of sidewalk tables, perfectly comfortable in their woolen suit coats; everyone else shivering in their casual indoor attire. Dean ordered an open-face turkey sandwich with gravy despite his suit, and Castiel watched him successfully eat it, shaking his head in disbelief, his own perfectly safe, pickle-free, sliced turkey sandwich carefully held over the wrapper, his tie tucked into his suit jacket pocket.

 

 

 


	18. Turkey Monday

The Monday the frozen turkeys were delivered was a fiasco, fifty some-odd frozen turkeys delivered into the conference room just after lunch somehow did not turn out to be a good idea. The conference table was not made to hold eight hundred pounds of turkey. The delivery company guy shook his head and asked for clean garbage bags, piled the birds on the floor under the whiteboard on the plastic, and left grinning and whistling, wheeling his dolly cheerfully to the elevator and snickering to himself.

 

Everyone who had asked for a turkey descended on the room to try to “get a good one.” Castiel didn’t see that there was much difference, maybe a ten percent variance in the birds and he rolled his eyes, content to wait for the fervor to die down, only to have Dean shove his way out of the scrum with two giant birds under his arms. Dean triumphantly heaved well over twenty pounds of bird into Castiel’s completely off-guard arms and tucked the other one further under his arm.

 

“For José’s Mom,” he explained, grinning at the confusion on Castiel’s face. “Her hours got cut back at work. Don’t worry, we’re eating the bigger one.“  He nodded at the bird in Castiel’s arms, and Castiel looked from one to the other, baffled. They were identical.

 

“That one’s bigger,” Dean insisted. “I have a gift,” he added smugly.  “Now come _on_ , let’s get these to the cars before my armpit freezes.”

 

Castiel trailed Dean to the stairwell, neither of them wanting to wait for the elevator behind the flock of women in heels. Anna joined them and they humped their loot down several flights of stairs to burst into the parking garage, Dean holding the heavy door ajar with one foot like a gentleman until all three had managed to maneuver themselves and their burdens through.

 

“Are you sure your car can handle that thing?” Castiel teased Anna, smiling, and she stuck her tongue out at him, heaved her bird at him so he could hold it for her while she unlocked her car. Castiel groaned, now holding forty plus pounds of bird in his rapidly numbing hands, and Dean swung back to relieve him of the one he’d had longer, Maria’s bird now safely nestled in Baby’s trunk. Castiel gently set Anna’s bird in her back seat for her and she mock-curtseyed, smiling up at him. 

 

“Thank you kind sir,” she said sweetly. “Wait, what are you gonna do with that turkey, Cas? Since when did you start cooking?”

 

Castiel looked uncomfortable and Dean rescued him smoothly. “It’s for me, Anna. My neighbor is having a rough time so I’m giving her mine. Shhh, don’t tell.”

 

Anna looked from one to the other of them, and patently did not buy it.

 

“Okay Dean, I believe you are giving yours to your neighbor, but Cas you’re a  _ terrible _ liar. Spill.”

 

Castiel froze, completely at a loss for how to answer. No one here knew about Sam, and it wasn’t his place to reveal any details about Dean’s life without permission. He looked at Dean helplessly.  Dean’s face asked permission to tell the truth and Castiel nodded, flushing.

 

“Alright alright, you caught us Anna. My brother Sam and I are crashing Cas’s for Thanksgiving because he’s been kind enough to invite us and his kitchen is  _ amazing _ , and I am going to make us  _ everything _ .” Dean’s eyes unfocused and he whispered “pieeeee,” the frozen turkey forgotten in his sagging arms.

 

Anna looked from one to the other of them and pouted. “I have to go to my Mom’s, and my whole family is…” her voice dropped to a horrified whisper “...  _ Republicans _ .”

 

Castiel laughed out loud, a shadow passing across his face but he controlled it with a force of will and smiled at her. “I understand, believe me. Do you have to travel far?”

 

“A couple hours,” she sighed. “I have to bring this to my Mom the night before and then make nice until I can escape Thursday afternoon after dinner.”

 

Castiel looked to Dean with a question on his face, and Dean smiled and shrugged his assent as best he could under the turkey. Castiel turned to Anna. “If you get out before it’s too late, stop by for pie? We’ll make extra, won’t we Dean?” 

 

“Fuck yeah, we will,” Dean grinned. “Bring your laptop Anna, my brother Sam would loooove to kick your ass.”

 

“Oh My God you’ve just made my week,” Anna breathed. “I  _ hate _ Thanksgiving, but now I can’t wait. And your brother Sam’s gonna DIE.”

 

Castiel laughed and collected his turkey from Dean, who rubbed his arms in relief. “Alright alright, let’s get this thing in the car, Dean.”

 

Dean called back to Anna as they headed towards the pimpmobile “What’s your favorite pie Anna?”

 

“Pumpkin!” she hollered, “Hands down!”

 

“You got it!” Dean called back, and Anna literally jumped up and down and danced her way back to the stairwell.

 

“I’m sorry about that, I hope you don’t mind,”  Castiel apologized, balancing the turkey between his knee and the door of the pimpmobile as he unlocked the door. “Anna’s a character.” He winced as he remembered that Dean was actually pretty friendly with Anna, and that Dean had no idea he knew. Christ, how awkward had he just made everything for Dean?  He set the turkey upright in his passenger seat and fastened the seatbelt over it, which got a real laugh from Dean, totally worth any condensation that might soak into the seat until after work when he’d move it to the trunk.

 

Dean smiled at Cas as they walked back to the stairwell, his easy grin unaffected by any underlying awkwardness he might be harboring. “The more the merrier Cas, it’s your house, you can invite anyone you like. Plus,” he added, “I usually pass out after turkey. Sam is going to be absolutely stoked if Anna will play with him.” He caught Castiel’s eye, raised an eyebrow. 

  
“Is she any good?”

 

“They’re pretty evenly matched, I’d say,” Castiel answered, turning his face away to hide his smirk at Dean asking  _ him _ if Anna was any good. Dean should know.

 

“Awesome.”  Dean paused at the entrance to their floor, thinking. “You have to keep that bird in the fridge, maybe move it to the counter Wednesday morning if it’s not thawed by then. We have to go grocery shopping for the rest of the stuff this week, and I’ll need to make pie crusts Wednesday night, and - what time did you want dinner to be ready?”

 

Castiel stared at him blankly. “I have no idea? When is it usually?”

 

“Dunno. We would usually shoot for like one o’clock and manage three, does that sound okay?”

 

“Sure?”

 

“Okay then that bird will need to be in the oven by…” Dean did some quick mental math… “Seven a.m.? Can you get her in the oven and baste until I get there?”

 

Castiel stared at Dean in complete panic and Dean laughed, reached out to touch his shoulder soothingly.

 

“Relax, I’ll take care of it. We’ll figure it out.  You can peel potatoes and carrots and do the dishes.”

 

Castiel nodded, relieved. “You got it, boss.”

 

Dean pulled the stairwell door open, held it for Castiel to step through, and shut it gently behind them so it wouldn’t clang. They grinned at each other, smug co-conspirators in planning turkey crimes, and parted ways to finish out their respective workdays.

 

 


	19. Turkey Tuesday

Tuesday after work Dean followed Castiel north instead of heading home. The pimpmobile was impossible to lose given the way Castiel followed the speed limit and signaled every lane change, and Dean resisted the urge to pass for almost twenty miles before he gave in, passing in a roar of acceleration, pulling in front of Cas, and then slowing to five miles under the speed limit until Castiel passed him in frustration.  Dean snickered to himself until they got to the parking lot of Castiel’s favorite Trader Joe’s and Dean hopped out of Baby expecting to see Castiel smile, only to find Castiel actually grumpy.

 

“Cars are dangerous, Dean.” Castiel griped.

 

“I was just fooling around,” Dean protested. “I was trying to make you smile!” his shoulders sagged in disappointment, and Castiel looked up at him and sighed.

 

“I get nervous in traffic Dean, especially when cars slow down in front of me unexpectedly. I can’t help it, but I  _ am _ working on it in counseling.”

 

Dean stared at Castiel in utter horror. “Oh  _ Fuck _ , I’m so sorry Cas; that was such a dick move on my part; I didn’t even  _ think  _ about - “

 

“It’s okay,” Castiel shrugged  apologetically . “I don’t want to make a big deal about it, I’m just letting you know why for next time, alright? I appreciate your trying to make me smile, I’d just prefer not to have to pull over on the highway to change my undergarments.” Castiel’s eyes started to twinkle, and he added “I ran out of laundry so I only have a thong in my gym bag and it’s quite uncomfortable.”

 

Dean swept his eyes over Castiel, impeccably attired in a black silk tie over his crisp white dress shirt, immaculately tailored to skim the planes of Castiel’s torso in clean military lines and disappear behind his shiny black leather belt and flawlessly pressed suit slacks, and his mouth fell open in disbelief. “You do NOT.”

 

Castiel stared back, completely straight-faced, for several long seconds. “You aren’t sure though, are you?” He grinned, his smile bright and infectious and Dean lost his shit, guffawing and covering his mouth.

 

“You could pull it off,” Dean allowed generously, waving a hand in the air in Castiel’s general direction.

 

“I know,” Castiel retorted, spinning on his heel and striding swiftly away to grab a cart from the cart return. Dean trailed behind him, helpless to stop himself picturing Cas in a thong now, and Castiel smirked at him, turning to point his newly claimed cart at the store entrance.

 

“Am I pulling it off in your imagination, Dean?” he asked.

 

Dean grinned, started to shrug casual assent and then backpedaled fiercely, turning a fetching shade of scarlet. “Wait, not OFF off, you’re just in great shape and - “ Castiel quirked an eyebrow and Dean spluttered for half a second before it hit him. “Sunuva _ bitch _ , you’re  _ fucking _ with me, aren’t you!”

 

Castiel had the grace to look a tiny bit ashamed in addition to incredibly pleased with himself. ”Yes. And you are lain waste before my fucking-with-you skills. Shall we grocery shop?”

 

Dean nodded, delighted, and followed Castiel into the land of wheat grass and organic everything.

 

***

 

Dean pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket halfway through the produce section to check the recipe he had jotted down. 

 

“Cas I found a roasted turkey recipe from Good Eats - “

 

“The one with the candied ginger in the brine and the apple and aromatics in the cavity?” Castiel looked up from examining potatoes for imperfections through the clear parts of the bag he was holding.

 

“You saw that one too?”   
  


“They’ve been re-running that one pretty much every day for weeks,” Castiel answered, and Dean nodded.

 

“The point being, the recipe cuts the cook time down by a lot, so we wouldn’t have to get up at the ass-crack of dawn to get out to your place - “   
  


“But it starts the night before because you have to do the brine overnight.” Castiel finished, nodding.  “You know I have a guest room, right Dean? And an office, and a couch. Why don’t you guys just stay at my place Wednesday night, then you can sleep in no matter which recipe you decide to make.” He went back to examining potatoes and put that bag down, frowning, to pick up another.

 

Dean hadn’t even considered the possibility of sleeping over. All his calculations had involved two hours of round-trip driving Wednesday night if he were going to brine the turkey - in which case he’d stay late to make his pie crusts in Castiel’s much larger kitchen - or prepping the crusts at his place but then having to drag himself and a grumbling Sam over to Castiel’s at some ungodly hour on the morning of the Holiday to get the turkey in the oven for Bobby’s traditional baste-and-bitch method. He ran the new numbers and they were just… superior in every way.

 

“You don’t mind?” 

 

“Not at all,” Castiel replied, smiling. “You’ll find I am not in the habit of extending invitations with  the expectation that I will be refused. On the contrary Dean, I have never offered to entertain a guest without complete confidence my invitation will be warmly received. Indeed, I have yet to experience anything but the pleasure of having my hospitality both welcomed and commended.” 

 

Dean stared at him, but he simply could not tell if Cas was making, like, half a dozen double-entendres on purpose - not until Castiel turned his head away to examine onions for gray mold and Dean saw his eyes crinkle as he smirked to himself. Dean swallowed the laugh bubbling in his throat to keep his face straight. No way Cas was gonna beat him at his own game, not only was he _going_ to get a real laugh out of Cas if it killed him, he was the _king_ of the double-entendre, and nobody, _but_ _nobody_ was gonna come for his crown.

 

Dean chose a selection of apples - mostly Granny Smith and Pink Lady, but he shook his head at fresh cherries so Castiel put them back. “The frozen ones come pitted,” Dean explained, and Castiel picked the fresh ones back up. 

 

“I’ll buy a cherry pitter in the kitchen section Dean.” 

 

“Yeah?” 

 

“Yeah.”  

 

Dean’s explanation that he simply preferred pie from frozen blueberries passed Castiel’s arbitrary acceptability test, and they finally found the candied ginger in the bagged nut section to the side of produce - nowhere near the fresh ginger. They left the produce section with a modest selection of pie fruit, rosemary, sage, celery, carrots, the nicest onions in the pile, and what Dean could only assume was the most perfect bag of potatoes in the store. 

 

The baking section was a different story. Castiel shrugged his shoulders when Dean asked what he had at home, and Dean ran down a mental checklist on his fingers to Castiel shaking his head no at almost every one. “Flour? Tapioca? Cream of Tartar? Baking powder? Cinnamon? Cloves? Nutmeg? Allspice? Sugar? Brown Sugar? Peppercorns?  Kosher Salt? Oil?”

 

Castiel had sugar. “For coffee,” he explained. “A little bag.”

 

Dean looked uncertain. “This is going to be expensive, Cas.”

 

“I don’t care, Dean.” Castiel stared at Dean evenly, his face inscrutable. “I haven’t had Thanksgiving dinner in twenty years. Put whatever you want in this cart and I will pay for it and I will take it home.” 

 

Dean was astonished, but he tried valiantly not to let it show. Castiel was not fooled.

 

“I haven’t had anyone I wanted to celebrate Thanksgiving with Dean, and it’s depressing to cook for one.”

 

Dean reached for the straw, too shellshocked to respond to the first revelation. “So you  _ can _ cook?”

 

“I learned to cook when I was a child, with my mother in her kitchen. I have cooked nothing that requires more than a blender or a microwave since my parents invited me to leave their home, twenty years ago this summer.” Castiel reflected for a moment, then amended his statement. “No, that’s not true, I also boil eggs, and sometimes I scramble or fry them. And I make toast, and sandwiches. Are sandwiches cooking?”  He looked to Dean for a verdict.

 

Dean’s chest hurt, and he gave up. This was not the time for his usual defense mechanism of deflecting emotion with humor. He took a deep breath, looked Castiel in the eye, and smiled gently.

 

“I’m sorry Cas, that sucks. But I’m incredibly honored that you would invite me and Sam to share your first Thanksgiving in ages, it means a lot. We don’t have any family out here besides each other and we were actually going to be pretty bummed sitting around at home with our thumbs up our asses and a couple trays of Boston Market - or whatever you’ve got out here -  so thank you, seriously  _ thank you _ for taking us in.”

 

Castiel looked bashfully pleased. “Really? I was worried it was a pity thing -”

 

“Really.” Dean cut him off firmly, shaking his head. “You’ll find I don’t make a habit of accepting offers out of pity. I mean…” he risked a sexy smirk and a wink “... who has the time, I get so  _ very _ many...” he batted his eyelashes until Cas caught up, and the bark of pure laughter that bubbled out of Castiel, along with the little bit of spit he quickly tried to pretend hadn’t happened, was worth the theatrics. Dean smiled at Castiel triumphantly, and Castiel grinned back for just a little bit too long until they both cleared their throats and went back to conspicuously reading spice jar labels.

 

By the time they reached the checkout the cart was indecently full. Dean reached for his wallet protesting that Cas was providing the turkey and “Sam’s going to eat half of this by himself, at  _ least _ let me split it Cas,” but Castiel was stubbornly adamant. Dean fought hard enough that he needed  _ two _ raised eyebrows before he bent to Castiel’s will, and he chewed his lip, chastened and sullen, while the bag boy shamelessly tried to flirt with Castiel until the cart was loaded. Dean followed Castiel out to the pimpmobile in silence. 

 

Castiel paused with his keys in his hand, poised to open the trunk, and turned to Dean apologetically.

 

“I’m sorry Dean. It was not my intent to emasculate you. I know it’s a perfectly reasonable request to want to split the groceries for a meal we are making together to share. I just…” he struggled for words, and Dean watched his face warily, still chewing his lip.

 

“I don’t even know how to articulate what I’m feeling right now Dean. My house feels so much more like a home when you and Sam visit that I don’t even know what I bring to the table. I want to fill my cabinets with things you like to eat so you’ll come back, I guess. I want to have paid for them so they have to stay at my house.” He trailed off, his eyes glassy. “I’m being childish and selfish. You can split the groceries Dean, I’m sorry, I’m being an idiot.”

 

Castiel was completely taken off-guard to find himself suddenly chest to chest with Dean, wrapped in strong arms holding him much tighter than any of the hugs Anna had ever given him. He froze in surprise, then slowly raised his arms to return the embrace, turning his head away so Dean wouldn’t see his eyes leaking and pressing his cheek to Dean’s shoulder.

 

“We like  _ you _ , Cas,” Dean murmured. “We don’t give a shit about your house or your groceries. We’d come hang out and kick your ass even if you lived in the Horseshoe and dinner was three-day-old cold McDonalds, you got it?”

 

Castiel nodded into Dean’s shoulder, not trusting himself to speak, and Dean rubbed his back, giving Castiel time to compose himself. When Castiel was able to whisper “Thank you,” Dean squeezed hard one last time and then let go.

 

Castiel opened the trunk and they loaded the bags in a different kind of silence.

 

“You need me to come help put this away before I go home?” Dean asked, as Castiel closed the trunk.

 

“Nope, I’ll just shove all the bags in the refrigerator until you and Sam show up tomorrow.”

 

“You will NOT, do not refrigerate my apples I want them room temperature and I want those herbs cut fresh and refrigerated with their ends in water… wait, are you  _ fucking with me _ ?”

 

Castiel grinned, busted. “Yes, I’m capable of putting groceries away Dean. I don’t  _ need _ you to help but I would  _ like _ you to come put them away with me.”

 

“All you had to do was ask.”

 

“I just did.”

 

“ _ Get in the car. _ ”

 

Castiel grinned and did as he was told, and Dean followed him home in Baby doing exactly the speed limit, signaling every lane change, and without passing once.

 

***

 

By the time the groceries were put away, Dean was running late to pick up Sam. He couldn’t resist swinging back into the Trader Joe’s anyway to buy a family-value-pack takeout container of fried chicken and another of steak fries from under the hot light in the deli for dinner. He zipped back to produce to grab Sam several kinds of apples he’d never seen before and collected a six-pack of el Sol from the beer cooler on his way to the checkout. Without paying attention he ended up in the same checkout line he had been in earlier with Cas, and as he paid cash and smiled at the checkout girl, the bag boy dropped his purchases in paper bags, looked up at Dean, and smirked.  “Oh Hey, forgot dinner for tonight, huh? Hope you’re not in trouble when you get home to tall, dark, and  _ gorgeous _ .”

 

Dean was taken aback, but years of traveling with Sam had made him quick on his feet with this sort of thing, while simultaneously running his patience for it razor thin. “Oh Hey, he’s not my boyfriend,” Dean retorted.  “But fuck you for flirting if you thought he was.”

 

The kid held up his hands in easy surrender, grinning. “No harm meant, man. Wasn’t trying to poach, just join the party. Can’t tell from looking if someone’s relationship is closed and sometimes a Daddy likes a little variety.” His grin widened as Dean scowled. “Relax, yours wasn’t interested.” 

 

Completely unfazed by Dean’s sigh of exasperation, he looked Dean up and down appraisingly, and changed tactics. “Well then. I  _ prefer _ an older man, but you  _ are _ delicious, aren’t you. I get off at ten, if you need to.”  He just left it hanging in the air and Dean rolled his eyes as he picked up his bags. 

 

“You shouldn’t hit on customers at your job, kid, it’ll come back to bite you in the ass.”

 

“I don’t mind, if that’s what you’re into!” the kid called after him, as Dean walked away, shaking his head.

 

***

 

Sam was waiting impatiently on a bench outside the library when Dean roared up beside him.

 

“I know I’m late,” Dean apologized before Sam could even get a complaint in edgewise, “but I promise it’s worth it. Cas bought everything in the damn store for Thursday and I brought you a peace offering.”  He pointed at the bag of apples on the front seat as Sam folded himself into it, heaving his backpack into the back seat, which narrowly missing Dean’s shopping bag and came to rest beside it. Sam poked around in the apple bag but lifted his head disappointedly from the selection of fruit to complain.

 

“What smells good?” he whined.

 

“Dinner, but you can’t eat that without me. Eat the apples.”

 

‘But I’m staaaaarving.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes as he pulled away from the curb. “I’ve been shopping for like three hours Sam, and I haven’t eaten a thing. I’m exhausted and starving too, but I don’t have any napkins in here and it’s fried chicken and steak fries. No. Way. Eat the apples.”

 

Sam perked up to hear what was for dinner, and he deigned to bite into one of the apples only to exclaim in surprise. “This is amazing, what kind is this?” 

 

“I have no idea,” Dean replied smugly. “Never seen it before. We’re gonna have to get back out to that store Sam, you would love it in there.”

 

“After finals,” Sam nodded. “How did the shopping go?”

 

“Cas didn’t have anything. We had to buy every single ingredient for pie, even flour and sugar and all the spices on top of the fruit and butter. He only has the one pie pan that he bought for us in the first place, we had to buy five more from the kitchen section. And a pan big enough to roast the turkey in. And he bought a cherry pitter. It was so. Expensive. And he wouldn’t let me pay for any of it.” Dean ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, and Sam’s forehead creased in concern.

 

“Why wouldn’t he let you help pay for it? Wasn’t he upset it cost so much? We’re going to eat like half of it.”

 

“I know, I know. But he got like, defensive and snapped at me, and then he apologized and... “ Dean was silent for a moment, thinking about the things Castiel had told him. “Okay, I’m going to tell you what he said, but you can’t act like you know, okay? I’m not sure he wanted me to tell you.”

 

Sam stared at Dean attentively, and Dean sighed.

 

“Cas hasn’t celebrated Thanksgiving in twenty years. Not since his family kicked him out, which was apparently twenty years ago this summer.”

 

“Holy Shit,” Sam breathed, horrified. “That’s awful.”

 

“I know, right? And then he said he didn’t have anyone he wanted to celebrate it with - “

 

“Until  _ us _ ? But we’re just….  _ us _ , we’re nothing special!” Sam protested.

 

“I know, right? But then he fought me over paying for the stuff and then when he apologized he said… he said when we visit we make his house feel like a home and he doesn’t know what he even brings to the table. He… he figured he was trying to bribe us to come over because if he paid for the food it had to stay at his house and then we’d come over to eat it.”

 

Sam’s face was just as anguished as Dean’s had been to hear it, and again now to retell it. “But he’s a  _ good guy, _ Dean, he’s just fun to hang out with! We don’t care what food he has!”

 

“I know.” Dean sighed. “I tried to tell him. I’m not sure if he believed me, but I tried to tell him. So just… don’t act like I told you, but be extra nice to him tomorrow and Thursday, okay?”

 

“Tomorrow?”

 

“Oh yeah.” Dean grinned. “We’re having a slumber party. Pack up your shit tonight and stuff it in Baby, we’re going straight to Cas’s after work and we’re sleeping over so I can ruin his kitchen and you can sleep in on Turkey Day. He has ‘a guest room  _ and _ and an office  _ and _ a couch.’” Dean’s imitation of Castiel was pretty good, and Sam grinned to hear it. 

 

“I have to study, Dean,” he protested.

 

“Yeah, well then you can do that ‘in the guest room. Or the office. Or on the couch.’”

 

Sam laughed, and laid down his queen, stymied. “Alright alright, I guess I can, as long as everyone else isn’t too distracting.”

 

“We’ll be in the kitchen pretty much the whole time Sam. Except Thanksgiving afternoon, when I intend to pass out on the couch after eating my weight in pie.  But you should definitely bring your laptop, Cas was hoping you’d play for a while after dinner on Thanksgiving.” Dean grinned, his surprise of Anna coming by to challenge Sam was just gonna be icing if she made it. Cas had looked so hopeful at the mention of games there was no doubt in Dean’s mind that he’d jump at the chance.

 

“Yeah?” Sam sounded torn - delighted and worried at the same time.

 

“Yeah. You  _ get _ to take a Thanksgiving break Sam. You’ll still get straight A’s.”  Dean grinned at him fondly, and Sam relented. 

 

“Okay. A couple hours.”

 

Dean nodded, satisfied, and they rode to the sound of Sam crunching apples for a few minutes until Dean remembered, still seething “Oh, and the fucking freshman-in-high-school bagboy hit on Cas, even though he thought we were together.  And then when I went back for the chicken he had the nerve to hit on  _ me _ , too!”

 

“Wow, Dean.” Sam huffed, “I can’t believe you.”   
  


“What?”

 

“Cheating on me like that. Doesn’t that bag boy know you’re  _ mine _ ?” Sam smirked and Dean spit himself laughing, smacked Sam’s arm with the back of his hand.

 

“Apparently,” Dean added, “he wasn’t looking to poach Cas, just to ‘join the party, cuz sometimes a Daddy likes variety.’”

 

“Holy Shit,” Sam grinned, “Wait, is  _ that _ why you were so late?”

 

Dean barked a laugh at that and tried valiantly to land a real punch on Sam’s arm this time, a difficult task given that he couldn’t look and Sam kept slapping his hand away. They were still giggling and slapping at each other as they pulled into the Horseshoe, and they raced each other upstairs to dump the contents of the deli containers onto two plates, squirt indecent amounts of ketchup beside their bounty, and repair to the couch to watch Alton Brown roast a Turkey yet again, their bottles of El Sol beading condensation into rings on the coffee table in front of them.

 

 


	20. Turkey-Free Lunch Date Between Platonic Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next three chapters including this one were SOMEHOW accidentally left out when I originally published the Thanksgiving section. I had a ton going on at the time but I am still rattled by this egregious error. So these were always in the work, not added later, but they weren't always *published*, first appearing 6/29/19. I swear I am not pulling a George Lucas, these are and have always been canon for this work; think of them as a deleted scene that have been put back into the Director's cut, explaining a good dozen references down the line that will make sense now DAMMIT I AM SO FURIOUS ABOUT THIS. :-D

 

On Wednesday Castiel felt completely giddy all morning. Anna had taken the day off, over half the cubicles were empty, and he was looking forward to a Holiday for the first time he could remember in a very long time. He hoped Dean had forgiven him for throwing a temper tantrum over paying for the groceries last night, but the hug surely meant that he was forgiven. The only person who had hugged him in years was Anna, and Dean’s arms around him had felt  _ nothing  _ like Anna’s. Castiel thought about the hug for a solid hour while he wrangled code - the way Dean’s chest had felt so strong and solid, how tightly Dean’s arms had held him, and how he had accidentally soaked tears into Dean’s dress shirt and Dean hadn’t said a thing about it, just offered comfort, rubbed his back, and waited for him to compose himself before letting go. 

 

Castiel thought about Dean coming over to help put away groceries, the good-natured teasing about him being Old Mother Hubbard, and then how he had let Dean choose every location in his empty cabinets and Dean had been as delighted as a child to get to arrange everything.  Castiel had watched Dean arrange and rearrange the spices and baking supplies - the new measuring cups and spoons and pie plates too - until the cabinets were organized to his satisfaction, a quiet contentment Castiel could not remember ever feeling before humming in his chest. His mind circled back to the hug again, how strong Dean felt, how perfectly Dean’s body had fit against his own, how Dean’s shoulder had been just the right height for Castiel to press his cheek against… and how good he had smelled. 

 

“ _ Too far! _ ” Castiel chided himself, just as Dean knocked on his cubicle, and he startled guiltily.

 

At first Dean looked apologetic for the interruption but when Castiel smiled up at him, he smiled back, wide and bright, his eyes crinkling to match.

 

“I know you’re probably gonna get sick of me Cas, and we already hung out last night, and Sam and I are coming over tonight, but… lunch?”

 

Castiel beamed up at Dean. “I could never get sick of you, Dean. Lunch sounds great, as long as it’s not turkey.”

 

Dean snorted a laugh. “No turkey then. Come on, I’ll take you out for a burger. No one’s gonna miss us today if we take a slightly longer lunch.”

 

Castiel nodded and they snuck down the stairwell, piled into Baby, and hit a sports bar a couple blocks over. The place was deserted. The waitress was young and pretty and attentive, and to Castiel’s guilty relief Dean didn’t flirt with her at all. He just smiled, placed his order, and went back to wheedling Cas to have a beer with him. Castiel let himself be persuaded, so when the waitress brought Dean’s beer he sent her back for another of the same and pushed his over to Castiel, careful not to slosh any foam over the edge of the pint. Castiel waited until Dean’s new beer arrived, they solemnly clinked glasses to celebrate their work hookey, and took simultaneous pulls of amber nectar.

 

Castiel was pleasantly surprised. It was shockingly good - refreshing, not too hoppy, with a sweet finish on the back of his tongue. He nodded at Dean approvingly, and Dean beamed proudly. 

 

“I thought you’d like that one. I’ve been broadening my horizons a little since Sam and I are ahead this month. Uh, and I expected to help pay for Thanksgiving groceries and seem to have some spare cash to take my friend out to lunch instead.”  

 

Castiel looked contrite but Dean smiled at him gently and reached out to touch his hand.

 

“It’s okay Cas. You can treat us this year, we’ll get next year. Deal?”

 

Castiel flushed with pleasure, warmth spreading through him from the inside out to be included in Dean’s plans an entire year out. He stared bashfully at Dean’s hand where it was touching his, sparkling electricity crackling across the back of his hand from Dean’s fingertips where they rested gently on his skin, and he whispered, “Deal.”

 

Dean beamed in triumph, pulled his hand back to the safety of his beer glass just as their waitress arrived with two plates of burgers and heaping piles of french fries. Castiel stared at his plate in preemptive remorse but Dean was already digging into his burger, holding it in both hands and leaning waaay over the plate to keep his work clothes safe. He looked up and grinned, his mouth full. 

 

“You can work it off after Thanksgiving, Cas. Today and tomorrow you get a free pass for gluttony. Dig in.”

 

Castiel shook his head woefully. “It gets harder every year, Dean.”

 

“Oh Yeah? That’s not what I heard.” Dean smirked around his mouthful of burger, extending a french fry towards Cas - one with a suggestive droop to it - and Castiel laughed out loud, covering his own mouth for a moment in surprise at the sound.

 

“No problems there, jackass,” Castiel retorted, smirking back. He wrapped both hands around his burger as Dean had done, leaned forward over his plate to take a bite, only to stifle a moan as the flavors danced over his tongue.

 

“Right?” Dean teased, working on some french fries now. “You’ve got to live a little, Cas. You can hit the gym or do whatever black magic ritual you perform every night to look so good on Friday, okay?” He pointed a french fry emphatically at Cas and waggled it for emphasis.  “Because you are gonna eat  _ everything  _ I make for us, Capice?” Dean popped the fry in his mouth and raised his eyebrows expectantly at Castiel.

 

Castiel’s personal timeline came to a complete standstill on the words “look so good.” He gaped at Dean as the compliment sizzled and sparked up and down his spine, danced through his stomach, and came to rest, glowing, in his chest.  Hearing it from Dean was different, somehow, than from anyone else who had remarked positively on his appearance to him before. Dean wasn’t trying to bend him over; he didn’t want anything in exchange for what he’d said, it was just a casual observation on his part. And yet... the words were powerful and heavy, and Castiel felt them as heat; they curled around his heart and pulsed there, made his cheeks flush and the warmth in his stomach ratchet up a notch. 

 

Dean was still saying something. Castiel rejoined his slipstream, swallowed, watched Dean’s lips move and his eyebrows raise expectantly, but he was unable to parse the words. He nodded obediently to whatever Dean was asking.

 

Dean waved another french fry at Castiel, back and forth like a metronome. 

 

“Are you with me, Cas? You seem to have spaced out there for a minute.”

 

Castiel stared at Dean, grateful the lighting was dim enough to camouflage the flush in his cheeks, and struggled valiantly to pay attention to what he was saying now. 

 

“Yes, Dean?”

 

“I  _ said _ , you are gonna eat  _ everything _ I make for us tomorrow,  _ right _ , Cas?”

 

“Oh! Yes! Of course, Dean.”  Castiel nodded his assent easily, there was simply no way he wasn’t going to eat every part of a Thanksgiving meal prepared for him by Dean. 

 

“Glad to hear it. Are you gonna eat your lunch?”

 

Castiel looked down at his meal. He was still gripping his burger in both hands, one bite gone, currently locked in combat with his stomach; Dean’s compliment tightening around it like a boa constrictor. He tried another bite and didn’t even stifle his moan - to Dean’s delight - but it landed painfully, immediately joining the brawl-in-progress, and Castiel set the burger down.

 

“I can’t, Dean. I guess I’m too excited for the Holiday. My stomach is all nerves.”  It wasn’t a lie, exactly, he’d been giddy all morning and he was giddy again now. 

 

“You’re adorable,” Dean teased, reaching over to snake a couple of Castiel’s fries. “Take it to go then, I can reheat it in the oven for you or for Sam if you don’t want it… wait, what do you want to have for dinner tonight while we’re cooking?”

 

“A salad?”

 

“As a side from a wings place?” 

 

It was impossible for Castiel to tell if Dean was serious or teasing.

 

Castiel snorted. “You’re incorrigible. We can order whatever you like, but I’ll be having a salad tonight if I’m to eat everything tomorrow as promised. My metabolism no longer allows me to eat like you boys can and still keep my girlish figure.”  He grinned at Dean and Dean snorted in return. 

 

“Nothing girlish on you, Cas. Oh hey I was wondering last night - do you own a meat thermometer? And are you hiding a stock pot big enough to brine that turkey in a closet somewhere?” 

 

Castiel quietly added the slight compliment to the one already burning in his stomach but it didn’t really count since he’d accidentally set it up, so it didn’t burn nearly as hot.

 

 “No... and... no.” Castiel shook his head at Dean, turning to signal their waitress.  “Do you want me to buy those things?”

 

“Nope. I packed my meat thermometer just in case and I’ll stop by a hardware store for a clean five-gallon pail; one tenth the cost and should do the trick. I have to wait for Sam to get out of class anyway, so you have time to go for your run or whatever, we’ll get there maybe seven-thirty?”

 

“Sounds good.” 

 

Their waitress arrived with a to-go box for Castiel and the check. She hadn’t split it, and she looked back and forth between them to see who wanted it.  Dean reached for the vinyl folio, glanced at the number. He slipped some bills inside and handed it back with a smile, shook his head gently when she asked if he needed any change.

 

“You guys have a lovely Thanksgiving,” she offered, smiling. “Do you have far to travel?”

 

“Nope,” Dean answered, grinning. We’ll be roasting our turkey right in town. You have a lovely Holiday too, y’hear?” 

 

The girl nodded and bounced away. Castiel watched her open the folio and count the bills, surprised delight crossing her face. She looked up to smile at Dean again and he nodded at her, smiling softly.

 

They walked out to the car, Castiel gripping his to-go container and musing.

 

“How much did you tip, Dean?”

 

“Fifty percent. Waiting tables is a rough gig, Cas. I always tip plenty when I can, especially when it’s dead like that.”

 

They got in Baby and shut their doors, and Dean started her up and sighed contentedly.

 

Castiel was chewing his lip, still musing. 

 

“You don’t mind when people assume you’re gay?”

 

“Naw, I’m used to it, and you’re a step up for me.” Dean was looking at the road and he didn’t see Cas turn to stare at him, confused but bashfully pleased. Dean grinned, thinking back. “I can tell you one thing for damn sure: I minded more when Sam was younger.”

 

Castiel’s eyes widened as Dean’s statement registered and he winced guiltily. 

 

“I… for a half-second when I first met Sam I wondered myself.”

 

“See what I mean? Happens all the time.” Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. “It’s fine, it’s whatever, just, like, when he was fourteen and people whispered and raised their eyebrows and offered us single beds in motels and whatever, I did  _ not _ appreciate it.” Dean turned to grin and wink at Cas before returning his eyes to the road. “It’s nice to finally be in an adult relationship where both parties can legally have a beer, is all I’m saying.”

 

Castiel snorted, shaking his head. 

 

“I hadn’t realized how long you and Sam have been dating. Mazel tov, cradle robber.”

 

“Shaaaaddup,” Dean groaned, grinning, then his face fell.  “Wait, do  _ you _ mind? I’m sorry; if you’re uncomfortable I’ll ask for a split check next time, I just… I don’t always bother to make the correction because they always feel like shit and apologize so much after it’s embarrassing, and I didn’t want to ruin lunch. ...Cas?”

 

Castiel was startled, unsure how to answer. He’d been mostly worried about Dean’s reaction, but…  if he were going to be completely honest with himself, also flattered. Dean was a  _ very  _ attractive man, and he was secretly pleased anyone might think Dean would be attracted to him in that way. He chewed his lip and Dean turned to look at him for a second, worried.

 

“I’m sorry Cas,” he apologized, “I’ll say something next time - “

 

“No, Dean, that’s alright. I wasn’t uncomfortable,” Castiel assured him. He hesitated, the fear of jeopardizing their friendship battling inside him with the desire to just be honest with Dean.

 

When the fear won, he added, “I suppose I’ve grown accustomed to the assumption as well, but not usually with someone else implicated as a co-conspirator.” 

 

Dean grinned and parried easily, “Guess that’s what we get for being so damn irresistible, huh?”

 

“I guess that’s our cross to bear,” Castiel agreed lightly, but his heart ached. Dean’s latest compliment couldn’t find footing now, on the slope of the small, slippery lie he’d just let Dean believe. Necessary for self-preservation, a misdirect he’d let lie hundreds of times in his life - he was celibate, what difference did it make? - but no part of him wanted to lie to Dean. He was silently grateful Dean was absorbed in parallel parking in front of their office building and couldn’t look at him right now. 

 

They hopped out into the sunshine and Dean caressed Baby’s chrome affectionately with the back of his hand. “She likes to get some sun,” he murmured, and Castiel smiled again, a real smile of delighted affection at Dean’s sentimentality. They strode towards the building in lockstep, shoving through the glass front doors in unison, then Dean paused.

 

“Let’s light this candle,” Dean sighed. “I gotta hit the head. See you tonight?” 

 

“Absolutely.” Castiel agreed. “I am very much looking forward to it.” 

 

That was completely true and it felt good to confess something slightly intimidating to Dean now, after the other thing he couldn’t.

 

“Me too. Like crazy.” 

 

Dean squeezed Castiel’s shoulder once in parting and headed for the side door towards the secret downstairs bathroom, so Cas didn’t follow him. He took the elevator instead and waded through the sea of empty cubicles to the breakroom, to shove his burger in the refrigerator and visit the restroom and return to his desk, the glow from the compliments Dean had gifted him today warring with the shame from the incorrect assumption he’d quietly let Dean believe. He ran his hands through his hair, still damp from washing them in the bathroom, and rubbed his eyes, staring at his dark monitor. 

 

Sam and Dean were going to show up at his house for an overnight Holiday stay in just a few hours and he didn’t see how he could possibly concentrate thinking about that. With his liquid lunch draining from his empty stomach directly into his bloodstream, his will to work was well below zero; more in the active rebellion range than anything resembling caring about software glitches. Castiel powered down his workstation, bagged his laptop, and stomped back to the breakroom to collect his soggy burger. 

 

Castiel took the stairs two at a time to saddle up his gently nickering steed and give her her head, which she promptly turned homeward, glad to stretch her legs, but ready for driveway and sunset all the same. 

 

 

 


	21. Horseshoe Hookey

Dean made it another hour before giving up on getting any more work done today. He collected his laptop and coat and swung by Cas’s desk to say goodbye but the cubicles were deserted and Cas was already gone. Dean grinned to himself, well, that was a first. He’d never stayed later than Cas as far as he knew. He strode out to Baby only to find that a bird had shit on her hood, and he found a paper napkin in the glovebox to wipe it off, spitting on the napkin in the end to try to get the last of it and walking to the side of the building so he could toss the napkin away in a garbage can. Dean scolded every bird in earshot as he strode back to his girl, but they blithely ignored him since he was of no use to them, clearly holding neither bread nor french fries.

 

Dean swung by a hardware store on his way home to buy a clean five-gallon pail, and while he was in there he grabbed some wax and soft new rags for Baby - he was about out and he had time before Sam’s class let out. He took Baby through a touchless car wash to get the last of the bird shit off her hood and drove her home, promising he’d shine her up real nice as soon as she was dry. The drive whisked most of the water off her and the hot sun took care of the rest and he pulled into the horseshoe excited to run his hands over her chrome. 

 

Dean hopped out to change into something he didn’t mind ruining, waving at José across the asphalt as he took the crumbling stairs two at a time to change and come back down in his worst jeans and a beat-up tee carrying the last of the wax he had left, itching to get his hands on his Baby. José had wandered over to see what Dean was doing home early and Dean grinned at him, opening his package of rags and looking for water droplets, caressing Baby’s curves.

 

“I’m playing hookey, kid. No one was left at work so I took off too. School let out early?”

 

“Yeah, our teacher is driving pretty far to her Mom’s tonight; she isn’t supposed to leave early but Mama came in to babysit the whole class and we watched cartoons and ate popcorn until it was time to go home.” José grinned. “I ate SO MUCH popcorn my mouth got tired of chewing.”

 

Dean snorted. “I haven’t eaten until I was sick of chewing in a long time, but I remember. We used to eat froot loops from the box until our tongues were all cut up and stained purple and our Dad wouldn’t buy us any more.” He grinned down at José. “You like froot loops?”

 

“Yeah, but Mama is buying boring cereal in really big bags or really old boxes of weird kinds lately and the dried kind of milk. It’s disgusting.”

 

Dean shook his head. “Oh god, I remember. When Dad was broke he’d get us the dried kind and we’d dump it on top of the cereal and stir it up with the water with our spoons. It was so. Gross.”

 

José nodded in agreement. “Mama shakes it up in the old milk jug like we won’t notice. Me and Felipe pretend we don’t know so she won’t feel bad. But it’s so gross I want to throw up.”

 

“Felipe and I,” Dean corrected him gently. “Listen, you want to help me wax Baby? I’ll pay you in real Froot Loops. And whatever’s good I’ve got laying around because Sam and I are going to Cas’s for a couple days and it'll spoil, okay?” 

 

José nodded eagerly, and Dean showed him how to take the rag and make circles on Baby, let him do the low parts he could reach and managed not to wince once as they worked their way around her from bow to stern. Dean only went over José’s parts at the beginning; by the end the kid was doing a pretty good job. They stood back to admire their handiwork in reverence, Baby gleaming in the sun, and José whispered, “Es muy bella.”

 

“Yeah she is,” Dean agreed, nodding proudly. “Alright, let’s go shopping in my fridge, huh?” 

 

José grinned and they headed upstairs to poke around in Dean’s fridge. Dean bagged up the rest of Sam’s apples - over a dozen left - the lunch meat they hadn’t finished for the week, some cheese, half a big bag of potatoes, and a very nearly full package of double-stuff oreos. José’s eyes lit up to see the oreos and Dean scolded him gently. 

 

“You give all of this to your Mama, you understand? I am gonna go get you your froot loops, and those are yours alone -  but we men take care of our  familias , and that means you hand this bag to your Mama,  tú entiendes ?”  

 

“Si, Dean.” José nodded seriously, and Dean grinned and winked and opened the zip-lock bag keeping the oreos fresh. “But she doesn’t know how many cookies were in here.” He snagged one for himself and two for José, and they ate them in solidarity, Dean’s eyes twinkling. 

 

“Uh oh, you better eat an apple now,” Dean laughed, grinning his oreo blackened teeth at José for emphasis. José giggled and obediently crunched into an apple while Dean rinsed his teeth in the tiny bathroom sink, checking the mirror for evidence. He was clean. He handed José a napkin for the corners of his mouth, made sure there was no evidence there either, then nodded his approval. 

 

“Run this stuff back to your Mama now, okay? I’ll be back in twenty minutes with froot loops - I’ll bring them to your place okay?”

 

José nodded obediently and they parted ways at Baby, Dean hopping in to run to the convenience store he had first met José out in front of. He chose the two largest boxes of froot loops he could find - you couldn’t buy one kid a box of cereal without getting his brother one too - and he bought two gallons of whole milk while he was at it. On second thought he also bought the biggest bag of decent coffee beans they had and a quart of half and half - if Maria was anything like his Dad, she was probably drinking translucent coffee or none at all by now to keep her kids in the cheap cereal. Dean hadn’t realized quite how tight it was getting over there or he’d have sent more fixings with the turkey, but he was a little late on that front. Unless… he added a couple pounds of butter to the child-sized cart he was pushing, a bag of chocolate chips, and five pounds of overpriced sugar. There. There was no way Maria would ever be out of flour in order to make her empanadas for her customers, but now she could make a pie or cookies for the boys tomorrow. 

 

Dean added a couple bottles of wine as an afterthought; he wasn’t sure what Maria liked so he got her a red and a white from the brand he’d seen in the recycling the most frequently when he tossed his empties out. Dean checked out, paid cash, and wished the cashier a Happy Thanksgiving as he left, humming to himself, to set the bags in the passenger seat and head back the couple blocks to pull his gleaming Baby back into her parking space. 

 

Dean admired her sparkle as he gripped the paper bags and strode over to José’s front door, hollered, “Hola! Entrega de pizza!” just as he’d heard José yell dozens of times before.

 

Maria opened the door but José shoved out from behind her, arms outstretched, and Dean reached into one of the bags to hand him his promised Froot Loops, grinning at Maria as she shook her head and rolled her eyes.  

 

“I got Felipe one too, don’t worry, I have a brother.” Dean assured her, and she stepped aside, motioned him inside to set the bags on her kitchen table. Maria looked inside the bags once he set them down and her face fell, surprise and dismay warring for dominance. 

 

“Es demasiado!” she whispered, but Dean shook his head gently. 

 

“Maria, I wouldn’t have this job without all your help, and my friend Castiel paid for the Thanksgiving groceries I thought I was going to be buying this week. José worked really hard helping me wax Baby, and the rest is just me and Sam saying Happy Thanksgiving. For  nuestros primos , okay?” 

 

Dean’s face begged her to let him help, and he waited silently for her verdict, willing her not to refuse. Maria chewed her lip for several long seconds, then she sighed, nodded and smiled at him. 

 

“Gracias, Dean. Tus primos will have a very nice Thanksgiving.”  She reached into the bag to pull out Felipe’s box of Froot Loops, and found the wine and coffee underneath. Dean didn’t expect the hundred pounds of woman throwing her arms around him to squeeze the breath out of him - she was  _ so _ much stronger than she looked - and he let out an ‘Oomf’ of surprise before wrapping his arms around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her dark hair. 

 

“Our Dad always gave up the good stuff for us,” he whispered. “We’ve been there. You’ll get through it.” She nodded silently, squeezed really really hard and then let go. 

 

“Go on, go get  tu hermanito and go see your Castiel,” she chided him, wiping her eyes. “Leave me to bake las galletas in peace.” Her eyes twinkled as José and even Felipe looked up from their ancient Atari game in excitement. Dean grinned and winked at the boys and made his escape, relief flooding through him that Maria hadn’t refused his help. His Dad had been too proud on more than one occasion and he remembered each of them - the ones he knew about, anyway - in excruciating detail. 

 

Dean headed back up the crumbling stairs to change once more, choosing a decent pair of jeans and a soft henley for cooking in tonight. He packed an extra change of clothes for himself and Sam from their dresser into a plastic bag just in case since he hadn’t expected to come home and who knew what tomorrow might bring, locked up, and headed north to collect his hermanito and go see his Castiel.

 

 

 


	22. Party Prep

Castiel pulled into his driveway with several hours to wait for the Winchesters to arrive. His house was spotless, his garden was freshly watered, he was too hungry to run and too jittery not to. He sprang up his front steps, unlocked his door, set his laptop bag down on the floor and crossed his kitchen to shove the burger container in his fridge. Castiel’s stomach was a little calmer than it had been at lunch when Dean complimented him - although it twisted again thinking about it - but he didn’t dare eat and he couldn’t run on an empty stomach. An obvious solution presented itself and he didn’t even argue, just washed his hands in the kitchen sink where he was already standing and headed upstairs for a little self-care.

 

Castiel took his time, choosing a curved toy he liked a lot and stroking himself slowly as he teased himself with the toy, working himself open slow and easy, carefully changing his stroking rhythm and speed to delay his pleasure for longer. He fucked himself down onto the toy until he was just brushing his prostate, gasping and fighting the urge to take his orgasm now. It felt better if he waited longer and he fought himself, keeping the circle of his hand tight but completely still as he rocked gently back and forth on the toy, letting the friction of the towel under him grip the base of it and moving his hand up to pinch his nipple harshly between his fingernails and twist. 

 

The burn echoed as sparks of pleasure in his cock and he gave in to his need, alternately bearing down on the toy and rutting up into his fist, gasping and panting and ignoring the unpleasant squelch of lubricant to focus on how good it felt to fuck the slick circle of his hand. 

 

Castiel watched the hard-won muscles of his stomach rise and fall as he rutted, admired his thighs with satisfaction as they flexed and relaxed, and to his shame and against his strenuous attempt to stop it he thought about the exquisite crackle of electricity that had danced up his spine to hear Dean say he  _ looked so good _ and that was when he cried out, spilling his pleasure over his hand and across his stomach with an intensity that took him by surprise.

 

Castiel lay still for a minute, catching his breath and swimming in a sea of self-recrimination. As a personal rule he did  _ not  _ fantasize about friends or co-workers. Guys at the gym or in magazines were fine, people he had to talk to were absolutely not, and while this technically wasn’t fantasizing about Dean, it definitely felt like crossing a line to receive something he’d said with sexual pleasure when it hadn’t been offered that way. 

 

Still, despite the gnawing irritation with himself, Castiel grudgingly admitted his body felt fantastic; this orgasm one of his strongest in recent memory. He shook his head and vowed not to let his mind slip like that again, leaned up to let his body reject the toy. He made quick work of the wet-wipes portion of the job, collected the towel and toy up like an unsavory bindle, and padded to the bathroom to finish cleaning up.

 

By the time Castiel finished showering, the nerves in his stomach felt settled enough to eat, so he pulled on running shorts and a jogging tee and sneakers, stopped by the kitchen to whip up a two-scoop protein shake with a banana and orange juice, and headed out his front door with his stomach sloshing, reasoning the energy would kick in about the time he needed it to.

  
  


***

  
  


Dean hummed to himself as he pulled up in front of the library to collect Sam. He was still running a little early to get to Castiel’s after seven as promised but Sam had texted his last class let out early so they might as well get this show on the road. Sam paused to admire Baby for a moment before opening his door, folding himself into the passenger seat, and grinning accusingly at Dean.

 

“Little work hookey, Dean? Baby looks pretty.”

 

“Yup, snuck out for lunch with Cas and there was no one in the office when we got back. He disappeared before I even left, and I left at like three.” Dean grinned fondly. “He was too excited about the Holiday to eat more than a couple bites, Sam. It was adorable.”

  
Sam grinned, picturing it. “That’s really sweet. Hey I was thinking we should be bringing wine or flowers or something. Some sort of host gift, right?”

 

Dean thought about it. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I still feel bad he paid for everything - I tried to treat him to lunch but he couldn’t even eat it.”  He thought for a little longer, remembered something else. “Oh and José accidentally let me know that they were at the dry milk and expired cereal stage.” 

 

Sam winced. “Oh god. Remember stirring it into water, and you’d hit the dry powder pockets?”

 

“Not the kind of thing you forget,” Dean agreed, making a face. “Anyway, I let José help me wax Baby - “

 

“- You  _ what _ ? You don’t let  _ me _ help wax Baby -”

 

“ - Shut up - So that I could pretend to pay him in Froot Loops, and then I gave them most of what was in our fridge, including your apples, and went and bought Maria some groceries and wine and coffee.”

 

Sam nodded, mollified. That made far more sense than Dean letting José touch Baby on face value. 

 

“Good.”

 

“Yeah, I don’t think you probably remember, Sammy, but Dad would start drinking motel coffee so we could have real milk, right before there was no coffee at all and the dry milk would show up. I figured we could give them a decent Thanksgiving at least.”

 

Sam shook his head slowly. “I don’t remember that. I’m glad you got her coffee then, Dean.”

 

“Yeah. Anyway, she almost didn’t take it, but in the end she let us help. Before she saw the coffee,” Dean grinned. “She was really happy about the coffee. Anyway, you’re out of apples and if we need wine or something for Cas let’s swing by that Trader Joe’s and you can pick out some new weird apples.”

 

Sam nodded easily. “Sure, sounds good.”

  
  


***

 

Dean let Sam push the cart, careening around parked cars like an idiot, because it made Sammy so happy and he was going to give Sam a good Holiday if it killed him. Sam was entranced by the apple selection, his eyes shining, and Dean let him pick out as many as he wanted, snorting and shaking his head as Sam took at least one of each kind and several of the ones he’d already tried, sniffing them and pouting theatrically when Dean shook his head firmly  _ no _ at Sam’s attempt to surreptitiously bite one.

 

“We’re gonna pay for it Dean!” Sam protested.

 

“Do  _ not _ get us kicked out of Cas’s favorite store,” Dean scolded, and Sam put the fruit back in the cart, chastened.

 

Dean was unimpressed by the flower selection. 

 

“Cas’s flowers are all nicer than these, these would be insulting,” Dean griped, and refused to choose anything. He trailed Sam to the wine department and was equally unimpressed by the hundreds of labels. 

 

“I have no idea what goes with turkey, Sam,” Dean sighed. “This is a Cas question. Let’s check out the beer instead.”

 

The beer department was a vast cornucopia of malts and hops and Dean went all dreamy while it was Sam’s turn to roll his eyes. There was a display of just-in selections, and Dean was shocked at the price tag on one that caught his eye. A four-pack of dark bottles for triple the price of a six-pack of any of the beer he ever drank… of stout aged in real honest-to-god bourbon barrels. 

 

_ Dragon’s Milk _ . 

 

Dean picked up one of the bottles and stared at the dragon on the label. Castiel loved stout  _ and _ bourbon. There was a decorative wooden crate of four fancy imperial stout glasses next to the carefully arranged beer display, shockingly expensive handblown glasses in the shape of tulips, a red bow on the protective padded crate. Dean suddenly knew what the flowers and wine host gift were and he placed both reverently in the cart. Sam’s eyebrows rose but he wisely nodded approval and made no objection.

 

Dean grabbed a twelve-pack of cold El Sol from the refrigerated case and silently took over pushing the cart as if it were full of loose eggs, and Sam trailed behind him obediently as they headed for the checkout. 

 

Muscle memory pulled Dean into the same lane as the last two times and he looked up from carefully placing their purchases on the conveyor belt to see his favorite bagboy grinning at him.  Dean had a moment of irritation before he was distracted by Sam crowding him and he turned to snap at him before he realized what Sam was doing. 

 

_ Oh for fuck’s sake _ . 

 

Sam was standing as close as he could to Dean, looking proprietarily smug and grinning at the bag boy. Dean didn’t even get a chance to decide what to do about Sammy being an idiot before the kid shook his head and whistled through his teeth.

 

“Jesus, they grow ‘em tall and pretty in your family, huh?”

 

“What?” Dean asked, startled, while Sam’s eyebrows rose in surprise. No one had ever called this particular bluff before.

 

“Little brother, or cousin?” Bag Boy asked, tilting his head towards Sam as Dean handed the cashier a wad of cash.

 

Sam spluttered in protest but Dean grinned. The kid was irrepressible, and Dean was impressed despite himself. Seeing through a Sam bluff was unusual and he was enjoying Sam’s annoyance.  

 

“Brother, being an asshole because I told him you hit on me yesterday, kid,” he answered. “How’d you know?”

 

The kid grinned. “Dude, I have eyes. Love but no heat, and he’s really good at pissing you off. That means family.”  He swept his eyes up Sam’s towering body, and winked at him. Sam just stared, completely speechless, and the Bag Boy laughed. 

 

“Not a gay bone in that giant body, either. Shame, too, he’s almost prettier than you are.”  

 

Sam’s mouth fell open, and Dean laughed out loud to see his brother discomfited, pocketing his change as he smiled at the cashier apologetically. She had just rung up about fifteen individual apple varieties one at a time. She shrugged and smiled back.

 

“Wait, I’m not gay either - “ Dean protested as the implication sank in, and the boy grinned up at him, gingerly handing him a triple-bagged crate of expensive glassware. 

 

“Uh huh. Tell Tall, Dark, and  _ Gorgeous _ that tonight when you bring him the presents, huh?”

 

It was Sam’s turn to giggle while Dean scowled and flushed. 

 

“Glassware isn’t gay,” he grumbled. 

 

“No, of course it isn’t,” the boy agreed readily, “The gay part is after, when you suck his - “

 

“-  _ BRANDON! _ ” the cashier interrupted, and the kid jumped sky high, clamped his hand over his mouth. “ _ WHAT _ did I tell you about bothering the customers? This is the last straw, I’m going to report you to  _ Susan _ \- ”

 

“Please don’t,” Dean soothed, smiling at her once more. “It’s my fault, I was egging him on. Brandon’ll behave, won’t you Brandon?” he raised an eyebrow in Brandon’s direction. 

 

Brandon nodded mutely, his eyes huge and pleading, and the girl relented.  “Last chance Brandon, seriously.”

 

“Last chance, Brandon,” Sam repeated sanctimoniously, and Dean frowned at him. Not cool, the kid was over a barrel. Sam had the decency to look ashamed, threw Brandon an apologetic look and the boy nodded, his hand still over his mouth. 

 

Dean winked at him as he and Sam walked away with their bags and the boy took his hand off his mouth, called after him, “Offer’s still open! Pretty lil bro can watch!” 

 

Sam grinned incredulously at Dean while Dean shook his head in resignation. That kid was going to get himself fired, no two ways about it.

 

 


	23. Thanksgiving Eve

Despite lingering in the Trader Joe’s, it was barely quarter to seven when Dean pulled Baby up in front of Castiel's garage door and set her parking brake. They hopped out to knock on the door but it was locked and Castiel was not home.

 

“Must still be on a run,” Dean speculated, disappointment tingeing his voice.

 

“What time did you tell him?” Sam asked, plopping down on the front step and unzipping his backpack to reach for a textbook.

 

“Seven thirty.”

 

“We’re super early Dean, relax,” Sam instructed him, grinning to see his brother so worried. “Have a beer, he’ll be here soon enough.”

 

Dean hadn’t realized how tense he was to find himself at Castiel’s house without Castiel there. It felt weird, made his chest feel hollow, and he took a deep breath and consciously relaxed his shoulders. “Yeah, okay,” he sighed, and slid back behind his steering wheel, turned the key half a click and pushed a Zeppelin cassette into the player.

 

Dean reached into the back seat to pull out a cold El Sol, condensation dripping down the bottle from the heat of the day, and he held it between his knees to pop the cap with the opener on the keychain dangling from the ignition. The first crisp swallow soothed him, unconsciously comforting the disquiet in his chest and he relaxed into Baby’s leather, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and enjoying the breeze ruffling his hair through his open window.

 

Dean was almost through his beer before his peripheral vision caught Castiel jogging up the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street, his face red, his body dripping in sweat, and his hair absolutely  _ wild _ . Shit, his work hair must be the  _ tamed _ version, not even a little bit the sculpted bed hair Dean had always taken it for. Castiel looked up as he crossed the street to see Baby, Sam bent over a book on his front stoop, and he wiped his face on his sleeve as he crossed the street, looking both pleased and chagrined.

 

“I’m sorry guys, am I late?” he asked breathlessly, sounding terribly worried.

 

Dean had already sucked back the rest of his beer and stepped out of Baby and he grinned at Castiel’s sweaty face, the tension in his chest entirely washed away with a suffusion of warmth to see his friend. 

 

“Nope,” Dean answered, shaking his head. “We were early.”

 

Castiel looked relieved, the chagrin on his face replaced with simple pleasure to see them. 

 

“Well, come on in!” Castiel unlocked his door, held it open, and watched both boys head back to the car with surprise. “Can I carry anything?”

“Nope!” Sam hollered cheerfully, “we got it!”

 

The first trip in was their laptops and duffels, Dean leaning in to grab the rest of the El Sol through the car window. Castiel trailed them inside as they dropped their gear in the corner of the living room and he stood in the kitchen looking uncertain, like maybe he needed to be doing some sort of hosting duties. A drop of sweat trickled down his arm to his elbow, teetered precariously for a moment, then fell to hit the floor. Castiel’s gaze followed it to watch it splash and embarrassment joined the emotions playing across his face.  Dean laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, sweat and all. 

 

“Go shower, Cas, we’ll be fine. I promise.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Absolutely.” 

 

Cas nodded, relieved, and disappeared upstairs to get cleaned up. The Winchesters made short work of bringing in the host gifts and Sam’s apples, and Sam installed himself in the living room with his laptop and textbooks in a loose semicircle around himself while Dean set the bourbon beers in a bowl of ice water on the kitchen table next to the crate of glasses, washed his hands, and set about preparing ingredients for the brine.

 

Cas had the turkey still in the package in one of the kitchen sink basins with a trickle of water running over it, and Dean pressed the breast with a thumb and nodded approvingly to himself. Good, the bird was well thawed and should present no problems to brine. He pulled the ingredients from the refrigerator and compared them to the size of Castiel’s biggest stockpot, the one he must boil his eggs in. Not a chance all the vegetable stock would fit, he’d have to make two half-batches. 

 

Dean had the stockpot full to almost overflowing with half the brine ingredients and the other half - less the stock - waiting in a bowl on the counter when Castiel padded into the kitchen, freshly showered and wearing a soft tee-shirt and jeans and sneakers. Dean glanced up at him from where he was bent down sniffing the brine as it warmed, and had to stand up to look at him properly.

 

Castiel looked great. His face was no longer red, his hair was as tamed as it ever got, and his runner’s frame wore jeans and a tee-shirt with the same ease as his customary suit. Dude apparently looked good in anything. Dean couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen Cas’s bare arms any way but dripping in sweat, and nothing came to mind. He looked kind of ripped, his arms and chest clearly defined in just a tee-shirt - and so much more at ease than he had at lunch. The nerves Cas had mentioned earlier must have affected how he carried himself because he almost looked like a different person to Dean’s eye now, calm, relaxed, and to be completely honest, unfairly good-looking. Shit, if running could make someone look and feel that good maybe Dean should try it. He grinned at Cas, nodded.

 

“Jeez, Cas, running suits you. You look so much more relaxed than after lunch today,” Dean observed, smiling.  

 

Castiel’s face went blank, and he nodded slowly. “Yes, running is very good for you, Dean. I do feel more relaxed than I was at lunch, thank you.” He paused for a moment, his face still inscrutable, then his eye was drawn to the red bow on the crate on the kitchen table and his face lit up as he stepped closer. “What’s this?”

 

Dean beamed at him. “Host gift from me and Sammy. Except you better believe I’m drinking some of that beer.”

 

Castiel lifted one of the bottles from the ice water to read the label, and his eyes went soft. He set it back in the bowl of ice water and ran a finger over the clear plastic the crate was wrapped in, admiring the glasses through the cover. “This is incredibly thoughtful, Dean,” he breathed softly, “Thank you. Thank you both.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Dean answered shyly, ridiculously pleased Cas liked it. “Go on, open the glasses - the beer won’t be chilled enough yet but it should be close enough by the time we’ve got the brine ready.”

 

Castiel sat down at the kitchen table and painstakingly untied the bow, set the ribbon aside. He found the edges of the plastic and peeled it up, winding it into a neat spool before setting it aside with the bow and reaching inside the carefully padded container to gently pull out a tulip-shaped glass, hold it up to the light, and caress the side of it reverently. It resonated a little at the touch, sparkling even prettier outside of the crate, and Dean’s eyes stung as he watched Cas listen to it with delight, stroke it again to hear the hum. He wondered when the last time anyone had given Cas a present was, and he held his breath to keep his emotions in check as it occurred to him it was probably…  _ Fuuuuck _ it was probably more than twenty years ago this summer. If Cas hadn’t celebrated Thanksgiving what were the chances he’d done Christmas or his Birthday? Dean swallowed a wave of real tears and took as quiet a breath as he could manage, his lungs aching as they fought the tightness in his chest.

 

Castiel set the glass he was holding down on the table, pulled out another and the padding that had separated them.  He set the glass down beside it’s brother, reached in to pull out the other two and ever-so-gently touched them together to hear them ring. They played slightly different notes, very close but not quite the same, and Castiel looked up at Dean with his eyes sparkling, only for his forehead to crease at the look he found on Dean’s face.

 

“Are you okay Dean?” he asked, concern overtaking his delight, and Dean fought himself with everything he had to regain his composure, smiling down at Cas with his whole heart.

 

“Yes Cas, I’m fine,” he murmured. “I’m just really glad you like them. I hoped you would, but I wasn’t sure.” He thought for a moment and added “The flowers they had were garbage.”

 

Castiel’s smile made Dean’s chest hurt in a new way. “I love them, Dean. They look like flowers, but they will never fade.”

 

Dean nodded, delighted. “I thought that too!”

 

Castiel leapt up to gingerly carry two glasses to the sink. “I don’t want to wait,” he breathed, gently swirling them with warm water and a drop of dish soap, and trying valiantly not to get any soap into the turkey basin as he rinsed them. “Let’s drink one now.”

 

“Alright,” Dean agreed softly, “anything you want, Cas.”

 

“Sam, you want a beer?” Dean hollered into the living room, but Sam looked up and shook his head no in annoyance.

 

“I’m  _ studying _ , Dean. Later.”

 

“Alright, alright.” Dean waved a hand at Sam dismissively, pulled two dripping bourbon-barrel-aged bottles of beer from the ice water bowl to set them on the table as Cas brought the rinsed glasses to the table and went to his silverware drawer to find a bottle opener. Dean waited, this event a little too formal maybe for his keychain opener, and Cas returned with a utilitarian can opener with a bottle opener on one side.  Dean laughed and reached into his pocket for his keys, they opened their bottles in tandem, and poured them carefully down the side of the fancy glasses so they wouldn’t foam over.

 

The liquid was jet black, the head a thick foamy brown, and Dean’s threatened to foam over as the last of the dark liquid dropped from the bottle into the glass, his pour not as practiced as Cas’s apparently, and he watched it swell dangerously, topple, and begin to fall.

 

Dean caught it with his mouth, leaning down to the table ungraciously to catch the foam as it spilled over the edge of the glass, his arms splayed wide to catch his body, and he made an indecent slurping sound since any chance at grace or class was now out the window. He looked up to see Cas laughing and shaking his head, the back of his hand hiding his smile, but not the twinkle in his eye nor the mirth flaring his pupils.

  
Dean grinned, stood up and lifted his glass. Cas mirrored him. They ever-so-gently touched glasses to cheer, both of them wincing as the glasses touched.

 

“Maybe no clinking with these?” Dean whispered and Cas nodded agreement, lifting his glass to his lips.

 

They had a ways to sip to get under their foam, Dean more than Cas, and Castiel’s eyes flared in pleasure as the thick black liquid hit his tongue. It was heady; strong and rich, and the bourbon flavor came at the front  _ and _ back of the mouthful, sweet and delicious layered over the bitterness of the stout, the flavor of the alcohol dancing on his tongue. Castiel watched Dean as he made it through his foam and took a long pull, watched his eyes widen in pleasure, and suppressed the aesthetic appreciation he felt to see it, ashamed at that and at the way he had accidentally enjoyed the visual of Dean dropping to catch foam in his mouth.  _ We do not objectify our friends,  _ he scolded himself sternly,  _ no matter how pretty they are _ . Castiel successfully pulled up, pushing how damn good Dean looked with his eyes flared in pleasure far, far away, and enjoying instead the smile of delight they now shared at how damn good this intoxicating brew tasted.

 

“This is fucking  _ delicious _ ,” Dean marvelled, taking another long, slow sip and staring at Cas incredulously, a smile dancing on his lips.

 

“Agreed,” Castiel murmured. “This is my new favorite.”

 

Dean laughed, tickled, and took a smaller pull this time, heat and giddiness spreading outward from his stomach through the rest of his body as the alcohol landed. “The asking price makes it a special occasion thing Cas, unless you got a bonus I didn’t.”

 

Castiel smiled at Dean, shaking his head. “I did not, but I rarely drink, and I’m not a single parent. I think I can manage it.” 

 

Dean grinned ruefully and punched Cas gently in the arm. “You try to be responsible but sometimes a soldier slips through. Only takes one.”

 

Cas spit himself, choking and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand as he caught his breath. “What is he, five years younger than you?” he whispered, leaning towards Dean to ask the question he had never dared to voice.

 

“Four and a bit.” Dean answered just as quietly, staring fondly into the living room at Sam, who remained oblivious, his lips moving as he furiously jotted notes into one of his notebooks, the index finger from his non-writing hand following a line of text in one of his textbooks. Dean took another pull of the dark nectar, sighed. “He’s working so hard Cas. I’m  _ so _ proud of him.”

 

Castiel gazed at Dean while Dean watched Sam study, his face inscrutable again. 

 

“You work hard too, Dean. Exceptionally hard. I know it’s not my place, I know I have no right either to say it or to feel it, but nevertheless I feel an immense pride in  _ you _ , for the way you take care of your brother.”

 

Dean looked up at that, sharply searching Castiel’s face for any teasing or similarly disingenuous reason he might say such a thing, but Castiel’s face was sincere, and his eyes were glittering, unable to meet Dean’s now, staring into his nearly empty glass instead. Castiel swirled the beer gently in his glass to watch it make a whirlpool, and Dean took a deep breath and blinked away his own emotion. Somehow it meant a fuckton to hear Cas say he was proud. He didn’t know why, only that he felt deeply grateful to hear it. He knew it was his job to take care of Sammy and he would do it no matter what, but Cas  _ saw _ him. Cas  _ knew _ ; and he was  _ proud _ of him.

 

“Thanks Cas,” he managed, his voice husky. “That means a lot.”

 

They both stared at their glasses now, sipping the last of their beer and feeling maudlin.

 

The brine started to boil vigorously and Dean leapt to his feet from where he was leaning on the table, caught himself on the corner of the table from the ensuing dizziness, made it to the stove to turn off the burner.

 

“Holy Shit, Cas, what percent is that beer? I am like, way more fucked up than two beers should get me.” 

 

Castiel reached for one of the empty bottles on the table, peered at the label. “Eleven percent,” he reported, impressed. “No wonder it’s so good.”

 

Dean responded with a low whistle. “Jesus,” he said, “That explains us getting all weepy, huh?”

 

“Must be,” Castiel replied, shrugging noncommittally. “I thought the unspoken manly agreement was to pretend neither of us noticed.”

 

Dean grinned. “You’re right, my bad. I meant, that explains why it’s so  _ fucking delicious _ .”

 

“Better.” Castiel grinned at Dean in return, the smile reaching his eyes and coming to rest as warmth in Dean’s chest. Dean stared back for a moment, grinning fondly, then he glanced at the clock and the spell was broken.

 

“Fuck. We’ve got work to do. Grab me that mixing bowl, will you Cas? We should stick to El Sol until the prep is done for tonight, pop those dragons in the fridge and I’ll get the second batch of brine going.”

 

Castiel leapt to do Dean’s bidding, and in moments the first batch of brine was cooling in the bowl on the kitchen table, safely on a folded dish towel so it wouldn’t burn the table, while Dean dropped the second batch in the stock pot to come to a boil and unwrapped and rinsed the turkey, set it on a plate on the counter so he could fetch the five gallon pail from the trunk and wash it out with dish soap.

 

Soon enough, the turkey was in the plastic pail submersed in lukewarm brine with a bunch of ice floating on top from the bag they’d bought for this very purpose, rapidly cooling as Dean explained to a worried-looking Cas “I left the water out of the brine Cas, It’ll take most of the bag of ice before the brine weakens beyond the recipe levels.

 

Castiel beamed, pleased at Dean’s ingenuity. “That’s good thinking, Dean! Well done!”

 

“Thanks,” Dean answered shyly, flushing just a little at the praise.  “Okay, now, PIES.”

 

They set up an assembly line for pie crusts, Dean insisting you couldn’t double a crust recipe.

 

“Can’t do it, Cas, I have to do them one-at-a-time or the butter doesn’t cut in right. Come on, get a little ice in that cup of water, we’ll do this right.”

 

Castiel watched, entranced, as Dean measured flour and a little salt, cut butter first to slide it into the bowl with one knife, then to combine it with the flour with two knives until the butter made little pea-sized crumbs with the flour, added just the right amount of water to stir with a fork and then a few twists with his hands, set that on a piece of saran wrap for Castiel to wrap and refrigerate, and did it again. Within an hour Castiel lost count of how many they had made, the stack of balls in the refrigerator growing into a solid mass and it was only when Sam wandered into the kitchen sniffing around for something to eat that they realized how hungry they were.

 

“Oh My God we forgot to eat,” Dean laughed. “That  _ never _ happens.”

 

Castiel laughed too, for sheer joy. He was, in fact, starving. The protein shake must have worn off sometime during his run, but he hadn’t noticed until now.  He opened his drawer of takeout menus and handed them over, and Sam and Dean bent over them in an agony of indecision. 

 

“There are too many choices!” Sam wailed, and Castiel laughed.

 

“If it helps, this pizza place or this Chinese place deliver the fastest.” Castiel reached over to pull the respective menus from the stack and Sam and Dean pored over those with renewed vigor. 

 

They couldn’t decide, Sam favoring pizza and Dean leaning towards Chinese, and they looked to Castiel helplessly to make a tie-breaking decision. 

 

Cas shrugged his shoulders and ordered a couple pizzas, figuring it was easier to eat cold for breakfast if needed and they were  _ marginally _ faster. He remembered something else and reached into the fridge for his cold burger, handed it to Sam with a question on his face.

 

Sam was delighted. He devoured the fries first, then the cold burger - without even asking for it to be heated - while Cas and Dean watched him with aghast fondness. That kid could  _ eat.  _ Neither Cas nor Dean doubted for a moment that Sam would still eat his weight in pizza, which he set about doing the moment their delivery arrived. Dean offered Sam his last, precious Dragon’s Milk but Sam wanted El Sol, so Cas poured the two remaining special occasion beers into the fancy glasses and the three of them sat around the kitchen table, Castiel’s chest full to bursting as he sipped his dark brew, chewed pizza, and watched the brothers bicker amicably about whose slices were bigger and slap at each other’s hands across the table.

 

When they were stuffed with pizza, Sam took his still half-full beer back to the couch to continue studying. Castiel stared at his empty glass and got up, crossed the kitchen to open a low cabinet Dean didn’t remember nosing into, and manifested a bottle of bourbon. He opened it as he crossed back to the table, poured several fingers worth into each of their glasses. 

 

“A chaser,’” he explained.

 

“Ha!” exclaimed Dean. “You’ve got it backwards.”

 

Castiel reached for Dean’s glass, his face completely serious, but his eyes twinkling. “If you don’t want it, I won’t waste the good stuff on you then. Drink your El Sol.” Castiel somehow made “El Sol” sound like an epithet.

 

Dean slapped at Castiel’s hand like he had been slapping at Sam’s earlier, but drunk or not, Castiel’s reflexes were lightning quick. In an instant his face went hard and he had Dean’s hand captured in an iron grip and bent into an imminently painful hold before he even realized it. He raised an eyebrow in surprise and let go immediately. “I’m  _ so _ sorry Dean,” he apologized. “An unfortunate reflex.”

 

Dean stared at Castiel, his pulse racing with adrenaline and his mouth hanging open, as he retracted his hand and rubbed at his wrist. 

 

“Fuck, Cas, you’re  _ dangerous _ ,” Dean marvelled quietly.

 

“Oh god, did I hurt you?” Castiel’s face, which had already traveled from reflexive animus to surprise to chagrin, landed now on devastated, and he shrank into himself, backing away from Dean, tripping over a kitchen chair as he did so.

 

Dean was at his side in an instant, catching him before he could fall, and this time Castiel did not react to Dean’s touch; his arms limp and his face a study in agony. He let Dean set him upright and he stood quietly, rocking a little on his feet from the alcohol and the nerves, his eyes red.

 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You didn’t hurt me, Cas.” Dean grasped him by both shoulders, gave him the tiniest shake. “Look at me.” Castiel tried, failed, tried again and succeeded. His cheeks were wet now, and Dean instinctively threw his arms around Castiel’s torso, wrapping an embrace around Castiel’s unresponsive, dejected frame and squeezing him tight. He murmured reassuringly into Castiel’s ear “You didn’t hurt me Cas, and even if you had, I would have brought it on myself, okay?”

 

Cas shook his head no, his shoulders shaking. “I could never forgive myself Dean,” he whispered, his voice rough.

 

“Well, you don’t have to, Cas, I’m fine.” Dean dared to rub Castiel’s back with one hand. “We learned real quick not to disturb Dad when he was sleeping, Cas, this is like that. I just didn’t treat you with the proper respect, that’s all.”

 

“Shockingly, Dean, it is no comfort to me to be compared to an abusive father,” Castiel grumbled into Dean’s shoulder, and Sam, who had been watching the whole thing from the living room with interest, chose that moment to chime in.

 

“It’s not like that Cas. Our Dad was an ex-marine. He never hit us on purpose - nothing we didn't deserve, I mean - but if you woke him up from a nightmare he could get violent by accident. We learned real quick never to shake him awake.”

 

“Yeah,” Dean added, “either yell or toss something at him from a safe distance. Something not too heavy.” He grinned into Castiel’s shoulder and Cas snorted half-heartedly into his in return.

 

“Besides,” Dean added playfully, dropping his voice low so Sam couldn’t overhear, ”As I recall you  _ did _ grant me a certain permission, and I think I’m gonna let you buy me that drink now, okay  _ Daddy _ ?”

 

That got a real snort out of Cas, and Dean dared to let him go, returned to his seat trusting Cas would follow suit. He did. Sam returned his attention to his studying, crisis averted, and Dean raised his glass to Castiel with a smile and a raised eyebrow. Cas let out a heavy sigh, sat down opposite Dean, leaned over the remains of the pizza boxes, and ever-so-gently raised his glass to just graze the side of Dean’s. They rang out a slight resonance, even with the amber liquid sparkling inside, and both men listened for a moment in rapt silence, Castiel’s mood lifting by degrees as he understood he was truly forgiven. 

 

“I hate that I’m dangerous,” he murmured softly.

 

“Yeah? I kind of like it.” Dean answered, just as softly. “You're a secret badass. That's pretty cool.”

 

Castiel lifted his glance to stare at Dean in surprise, a sudden rush of warmth infusing him, but Dean was tilting back his glass to take a tentative sip, his eyes flaring wide in surprised delight as the liquid hit his tongue. 

 

“Holy Shit, this is  _ amazing _ ,” he breathed, holding up the glass to admire the amber liquid in the light.

 

Castiel took a sip himself, let the flavor roll around his mouth, swallowed slowly, the burn barely making it to his stomach before it disappeared, but adding to the heat there all the same.

 

“Told you it was the good stuff,” he answered smugly.

 

“ _ Fuuuuck _ ,” Dean breathed, “I’mma let you buy me as _ many drinks as you want _ ,” He took another long sip and his eyelashes fluttered in pleasure, making Castiel cough and cover by taking another mouthful of his own. 

 

_ Stop it.  _ Castiel instructed himself sternly.  _ No matter how pretty he looks DO NOT. _

 

“Are you alright Cas?” Dean asked, staring forlornly into his now somehow empty glass.

 

“Yes, Dean.” Castiel wrapped his long fingers around the bottle, his hand curling around to grip the neck of it unconsciously in a way that made Dean suddenly, inexplicably, feel very warm. “May I buy you another drink, Dean?”   
  


“I thought you’d never ask.”

 

***

 

By the time Castiel and Dean had polished off the entire bottle of what tasted like  _ very  _ expensive bourbon, preparing pies in the morning rather than now started to sound like a really good idea. 

 

“...n that way, all the pie crust will be fresssh!” Dean rationalized.

 

Castiel looked at Dean blankly, clearly not entirely sure what that meant. 

 

Dean’s eyes widened in shock, his addled mind definitely made up now. “Okay Cas, we’ll make pies in th’ morning before we roas’ th’ turkey.  FRESSSSH, Cas, like that one I made the firs’ time Sam-n-I came here, member cuz we had a whole Sunday that time not jus’ couple hours on a Friday night.”

 

“Ohhhh, okay yes, I remember. That crust was flaky, and tender, and delicious, and just melted in my mouth…” Dean stared at Cas’s mouth as Cas waxed poetic about his pie, practically salivating as Castiel continued. “... and also the only pie I can remember eating in a decade so I don’t have a lot to compare it to.” 

 

Dean’s mouth fell open. “Not even STORE pie, Cas?”

 

“No, Dean,” Castiel solemnly denied. “Not even store pie.”

 

“Well ‘m here now Cas. And you’re gonna have pie, I’ll see t’ that.” Dean was starting to sag in his chair, and Castiel beamed at him, staggered to his feet.

 

“C'mon, Dean. Guest room.”  Cas looked to Sam, worried. “Unless Sam gets it? Did you two decide earlier?” 

 

Sam grinned at Cas, looking up from his encampment. “I'm fine right here Cas. If I take the couch I don't have to clean up my books and I won't wake Dean when I get up to study. I wake up first most mornings and I bet tomorrow's no exception.” He looked at Dean's sagging head fondly. “Uh, need a hand Cas?”

 

Castiel grinned back. “Nope, I got him. He's not passed out  _ quite  _ yet.”

 

“Hey!” Dean protested. “M’right ‘ere!”

 

“Mmm Hmmm.” Cas murmured. “And you're  _ very  _ good at bourbon, Dean. Come on, this way.” He stood near enough to Dean to offer assistance but not so near as to be in his personal space, and waited until Dean staggered to his feet, weaving unsteadily. Castiel waited to see what Dean would do until Dean threw an arm over his shoulder, then he led Dean to the stairs, unobtrusively steadied him up the stairs, brought him to the guest room and let him go to sit heavily on the bed. Sam appeared in the doorway with Dean’s duffel and grinned at Cas as he set it at the end of the bed for Dean.

 

“Why’rnt you drunker?” Dean demanded, and Cas grinned down at him.

 

“I am actually quite intoxicated Dean, but I believe I have many years more practice at bourbon than you do.” Castiel watched Dean try to untie his boots and fail, Castiel’s grin widening as Sam bent down to help, pulled off Dean’s boots one after the other. “The good stuff goes down smooth, Dean,” Castiel observed wryly, “but she’s more dangerous than she seems.”

 

“Like you.” Dean smiled softly to himself, collapsing backwards into the bed, his eyes firmly shut.

 

Castiel glanced sharply at Dean’s face, but his eyes were closed and his face was soft. He wasn’t making fun. Castiel looked to Sam for guidance, but Sam shrugged, his eyebrows raised. Cas was on his own on that one.

 

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel murmured. “Like me. Goodnight, Dean.”

 

“Night Cas. Night Sammy. Wake me up ‘f you wake up firs’.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Sam agreed, shaking his head no at Castiel and grinning. Castiel grinned back and they tiptoed out of the room as Dean started to snore, shutting the door quietly and heading back down the stairs to the living room.

 

Sam waved Castiel to the end of his own couch that was the most clear of papers, pulling a couple books off of the space, and Castiel sank down next to him with a sigh.

 

Sam moved the rest of the books and papers that were littering the couch onto the coffee table instead, stacking them in an order known only to him, and turned to Castiel.

 

“How expensive a bottle of bourbon did you just let Dean drink most of, Cas?”

 

Castiel grinned guiltily and leaned back into the couch, running his hands through his hair and clasping his hands behind his neck.

 

“You don’t want to know.”

 

“That’s what I thought,” Sam snorted. He tilted back a little of his bottle of El Sol, and was silent for a moment, considering, before he continued. “It’s a waste, you know. He’ll drink whatever you put in front of him.”

 

“I know he will Sam,” Castiel answered softly, his voice far away. “It wasn’t a waste. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion, and I’m finally having one.”

 

Sam’s heart hurt and he was silent for a minute.

 

“Thanks for having us over Cas,” he said finally. “It hasn’t been that long without Dad and we can’t get to Uncle Bobby’s this year and it was gonna be… hard. We’re glad to be here with you.”

 

Castiel looked Sam in the eye, his gaze steady. “He told you, didn’t he.”

 

“Yup.”

 

“I see.”

 

“Only so that I would behave properly though, Cas,” Sam protested, “but I’m not sure either of us knew exactly what that should mean.” Sam grinned ruefully. “I guess for Dean it meant drink all your bourbon. Twenty years though, Cas, Holy Shit, I’m sorry.”

 

“I have no wish for you to be sorry Sam,” Castiel replied earnestly. “Just to understand how very glad I am to have you here, and then to speak of it no more, lest I weep.”  

 

Sam nodded seriously. “You got it, Cas. You always a poet when you’ve been drinking?”

 

“Only when I drink bourbon,” Castiel replied gravely. “I used to read  a great deal of poetry , usually nursing a bourbon. It’s a sense memory thing, I suppose.” 

 

Sam thought about that. He thought about the words “used to,” and he suppressed his urge to ask.

 

Castiel answered anyway.

 

“I put aside poetry after nine eleven, Sam. I had a hard time believing in beauty or that there was anything in humanity worth saving.” Castiel closed his eyes, silent for a moment, then he continued, almost too quietly for Sam to hear, “ _...but recently, as comes the breath of spring, I find new light and mirth and song.” _  His head started to nod forward and he opened his eyes with a slight start. 

 

“I’ve got to head to bed Sam. Will you be alright here? Do you need anything?”

 

“Oh shit, don’t worry about me, Cas!” Sam exclaimed, “I didn’t realize I was keeping you up.”

 

Castiel looked worried and Sam reached out to pat his hand reassuringly. “You’re an awesome host, Cas, but you don’t need to worry about me. I’ll just brush my teeth down here and crash when I’m done studying. I might be another couple hours, man. Don’t worry about me, I’m all good, seriously.”

 

Castiel studied Sam’s hand where it was touching his. It was warm, and pleasant, and no electricity crackled across his skin from the contact whatsoever.

 

“If you’re sure?” he pulled his hand back to cover his mouth guiltily as a yawn escaped and Sam laughed.

 

“I’m sure. Go sleep it off, man, Dean’s gonna make you cut up so much fruit tomorrow you’ll be sorry you invited us over.”

 

“Not a chance,” Castiel disagreed, lurching to his feet and yawning again, more vigorously this time. “Goodnight, Sam.”

 

“Goodnight, Cas.”

 

Castiel made his exit up the stairs and Sam looked after him for a long time, lost in thought, before pulling his laptop into his lap, consulting one of his stacks of notes, and beginning to type.

  
  
  
  
  


 


	24. Youthful Vigor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This weekend marks the nuptials of my friends, which I will be officiating and have been flipping out over for MONTHS.  
> This chapter is therefore early, and shorter than usual. I promise you will get extra next week, and I trust I will be forgiven, given the nature of the content. ;-)

Dean woke with a start, disoriented and fuzzy-headed. He didn’t know where he was, so maybe… he turned his head warily, but no, he was alone in the queen-sized bed. He smelled coffee and heard muffled conversation - obviously Sam, and a deeper voice, chatting amiably. _Oh yeah! Slumber party!_ He was at Castiel’s of course, in the guest room, flopped on the bed on top of the covers, wearing the same clothes as last night. Alone, with a moment of rare, blessed privacy at the same time as raging morning wood. Dean pressed his hand on his erection over his jeans and suppressed a groan. Didn’t matter what time it was, five more minutes wouldn’t make a difference and the opportunity to jack off _not in the shower_ was too rare to pass up.

 

Dean rolled over, groaning for real as his head mentioned last night’s festivities, and he willed the ache to leave him alone for just a minute. He fumbled with the nightstand looking for how he could MacGyver his situation real quick - what did Cas have in here anyway - and pulled the drawer open. His eyes widened in impressed surprise.

 

The drawer had a plastic organizer and a really thoughtful selection of crap a guest could need, like Dean had occasionally seen in a basket in the bathroom at weddings, although this one was better stocked. There were tissues and single-serve packets of medicine choices - advil, antacids, benadryl and the like - he grabbed the tissues and a packet of advil  - and a set of nail clippers and various feminine hygiene products and a small bottle of hand lotion and another of hand sanitizer. He reached for the hand lotion too but wait _Holy Shit_ Cas had little purple packets labeled _sexual lubricant_ in here and condoms too. Fuuuck, he _really_ _did_ deserve compliments on his hospitality, he’d thought of everything.

 

Dean worked up some spit and swallowed a couple of advil for starters. He felt an urgency now, a need to hurry up and shower and get his ass downstairs to make pies without delay now that he was awake, but there were _tissues and packets of stuff he’d only seen in porn_ in here with him, a closed door, privacy. It was impossible to pass up, and he pulled his shirt off as quickly as he could, unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans to pull those off, pulled his boxers down and stroked his cock dry while he tore the top off the lube packet with his teeth, squeezed it into his right hand with his left, dropped the empty packet on his shirt on the bed and groaned as he wrapped his freshly lubed hand around his cock and slid his palm down the length of his shaft. This was completely different, _worlds_ better than conditioner in the shower, or worse, soap. This felt like liquid silk, _fuck it_ , _Cas was a genius_ , he was gonna have to buy some of whatever this was and hide it in the bathroom at home.

 

Dean watched his hand move, stifled a groan at the sparks of pleasure along his cock, tension building low in his gut at each smooth slide of his hand. Lying on his back completely relaxed instead of standing hunched over in the shower was a rare luxury, and deserved at least a couple minutes. Dean slowed down to give himself time to climb a little higher, experimented with tightening his grip and fucking up into his fist by arching his back, grinding with his thighs and abdominal muscles, and found himself accidentally crying out at how good that felt.

 

Dean froze, horrified he’d been overheard, but the low murmur of conversation below did not stop, so he dared to grind up into his fist again, trying to hold his breath so he wouldn’t moan but beginning to pant anyway, the delicious friction of the circle of his hand somehow much hotter if he fucked up into his slick downstroke like he meant it instead of just moving his hand. He shut his eyes and tried to picture a woman riding him but he could hear the low tones of Castiel saying something downstairs and it was too distracting, he could actually make out words now, Castiel’s voice becoming more distinct, saying “I’ll check if he’s awake,” footfalls on the stairs, but he was too close, _too close_ , the footsteps coming towards the door only adding urgency and heat - he stopped moving his body so the bed wouldn’t creak but was unable to stop his hand’s rapid stroking - and then there was a quiet knock on the door and Castiel’s voice asking “Dean, are you awake?”

 

Dean’s entire body vibrated at the resonance of Castiel’s voice as he desperately _willed the door not to open_ . He needn’t have worried, Castiel the consummate host, but that didn’t stop him imagining Castiel opening the door, seeing him like this, and instead of shaming him down the thought was wildly arousing and he hurtled over that razor’s edge, his pleasure intense and overwhelming as he came hard, holding his breath and spilling his pleasure in pulses over his hand and onto his stomach, twitching and shuddering and finally managing to choke out “ _Just a minute!_ ” as Castiel knocked again, his voice rumbling “Dean? Are you alright?” through the door and incidentally throughout Dean’s entire body.

 

“Okay, whenever you’re ready Dean. Sam thinks it’s time to start pies.” Castiel spoke calmly, completely unaware of Dean’s predicament, his voice curling around and through Dean as Dean lay perfectly still on his back, his spent cock in his hand, aftershocks of pleasure making him tremble.

 

“I’ll be down in ten,” he croaked, “Thanks, Cas.”

 

“Alright Dean,” Castiel answered, “There are towels in the bathroom, first door on the left.”

 

Castiel's steps receded back down the stairs and Dean sighed, slowly drifting back down. He hadn’t come that hard in forever. He had to find out where to buy that stuff, and hope it worked just as well in the shower. Dean wiped up with some tissues, wadded up the evidence in a ball and pulled off a sock to shove the wad into the sock, shove the sock in his duffel. He shoved the other one next to it for good measure, pulled up his boxers, grabbed his dopp kit, yesterday’s jeans, a clean tee and boxers, and padded down the hallway towards the bathroom to make himself presentable.

  


***

  


Castiel and Sam glanced up from the kitchen table as Dean joined them, his hair wet and his eyes sparkling.

 

“What are you two talking about without me?” he mock scolded, crossing to the coffee pot and pouring a cup into the clean mug that was clearly waiting for him, half and half and sugar beside it and a spoon upright in the mug. _Hot Damn,_ Cas was a great host.

 

Sam looked at Castiel but Castiel was watching Dean, a soft smile on his lips.

 

“Why aren’t you more hungover?” Castiel demanded playfully, an echo of Dean last night. Sam snorted but Dean winked and grinned at Castiel, carrying his mug to the table to pull up a chair and growing visibly excited to discover the giant carton of doughnuts waiting.

 

“Youthful vigor, Cas. You might remember it, it’s that thing you have to give up to get ‘years of practice with bourbon.’” Dean grinned, reaching into the carton for a jelly doughnut. To start.

 

Castiel snorted and retorted smoothly “In my day we showed our elders some respect...” he raised an eyebrow and added “or they showed us the back of their hand.”

 

Dean choked on his coffee and Castiel grinned wickedly, held up his hands. “Of course I kid, Dean, I would never raise a hand to anyone that hadn’t expressly begged me to.” Sam shook his head, grinning as Dean coughed, his ears turning a little pink, and Castiel continued. “But seriously Dean, would you like advil or tylenol? I found I needed some this morning and you imbibed a little more than I did…?”

 

Dean shook his head and swallowed his mouthful of doughnut. “Naw I’m good, I had some advil from your impressively stocked nightstand this morning, thanks Cas.”

 

Castiel’s face remained entirely innocent, but his eyes twinkled. “Ahh, wonderful. I make it a point to try to to anticipate a guest’s every desire. I trust you found everything to your… satisfaction?”

 

Dean looked up sharply at Castiel’s face, but he was a perfect study in innocence. Too perfect. Dean flushed hotly and met Castiel’s eyes defiantly. “Yes, thank you, Castiel. Most satisfactory,” he retorted coolly. “Your hospitality deserves those commendations you mentioned, and I’ll be glad to replace any guest items you find need to be restocked.”

 

Castiel’s face fell, his innocent sparkle replaced with dismay.

 

“Sam can you give us a minute?” he asked very quietly, without taking his eyes from Dean’s face.

 

“Of course,” Sam nodded quietly and was in the living room in moments, his headphones on and his laptop in his lap.

 

Dean stared at Castiel, the flush in his cheeks still there but defensiveness at being called out now adding a scowl to his features and an angry hunch to his shoulders.

 

Castiel glanced away only long enough to verify that Sam was not listening, then he leaned forward, his face earnest and apologetic, his voice so quiet Dean could barely hear him.

 

“Dean you have my _most abject apologies_ , I am _mortified_ to have embarassed you. I was attempting humorous wordplay on the assumption you had taken a thorough look through the drawer; under no circumstances would I have made such a comment had I even the slightest suspicion you had availed yourself of the opportunity for privacy and I beg you to forgive me.”

 

Dean’s mouth fell open as Castiel continued, desperately filling the silence, “I awoke with a pounding headache and without my customary morning tumescence for the first time in many years so I suppose I projected a similar state onto you. _Please_ forgive me Dean, I did not mean to make you uncomfortable and I am terribly ashamed.”

 

Dean stared at Castiel’s mortified face, his shoulders unhunching and his scowl lifting as he worked his way through what Cas was telling him. As his brain caught up with Castiel’s speech and made it all the way to the end, a slow smile spread across his face and to Castiel’s surprise, Dean looked _smug._

 

“Youthful vigor.” Dean remarked wryly, shrugging.

 

Castiel’s surprised bark of laughter caught Sam’s attention and he looked up, but he could see they weren’t done yet and looked back down immediately.

 

Castiel stared at Dean hopefully, a smile playing on his lips but his brow still creased. “Will you _please_ forgive me Dean?”

 

Dean nodded, and Castiel’s relief was palpable, his shoulders sagging and his breath huffing out. He ran his hands through his hair, his eyes wide. “ _Jesus Christ,_ ” he whispered almost inaudibly to himself, “ _Stellar hosting, Castiel_.”

 

Dean grinned at him. “It _is_ stellar hosting, Cas,” he murmured, “and even though you _did_ accidentally embarrass the shit out of me just then - “ Castiel winced, as Dean leaned forward and dropped his voice even quieter - “I’m gonna have to push through it to ask you where you get that.. stuff. It’s _fucking amazing_.”

 

Castiel’s face went conspiratorially delighted in an instant, and he leaned forward and whispered back “ _Isn't it?_ That brand is my hands-down favorite. Hands-up- _and_ -down, I suppose,” he mused, and Dean snorted and covered his mouth with his hand, even as his eyes widened.

 

“Brand?” he whispered, “There are different _kinds?_ ”

 

Castiel stared at him in shock, but he smoothed his face almost immediately, answered evenly. “Yes, Dean. Dozens of kinds. I’ll get you the address of the place I get it, they have samples there so you can take them home and figure out your preferences before you commit to a whole bottle.  I had to buy a gross of those samples actually, I can send you home with a handful until you find a time to get out there, if you like.” Castiel grinned and tilted his head towards the living room, still whispering. “I assume you wouldn’t want Sam in tow.”

 

“You don’t mind?”  Dean grinned sheepishly.  “I get that this is weird but I reaaally want to say yes.”

 

“I don’t mind. And there’s nothing weird about good lubricant Dean, it’s _essential_.”

 

“I meant weird that I’m asking you where you get your brand and you’re gonna send me home with a self-starter pack.”

 

Castiel grinned. “Yeah, alright that might be weird but I’m just worried about your self-care routine if you haven’t got a favorite brand by now.” He raised both hands in apology “Sorry! None of my business, I’m just glad you… liked it.”  Castiel blushed as he realized what he was saying and Dean laughed, pleased to see the flush on Cas’s cheeks for a change. Only fair.

 

“I did,” he teased, “ _very_ much.”

 

The blush on Castiel’s face intensified, and his eyes cast down to study his hands where they now rested on the table, unable to look Dean in the eye. Dean snickered and reached for another doughnut, waving to catch Sam’s eye that they were all good.

 

Sam nodded and pulled off his headphones, but he didn’t leave the couch, intent now on studying. Dean stretched and groaned, drained his coffee, and stood up.

 

“Alright Cas, shall we make pies?”

 

Castiel leapt to his feet. “Yes, Dean.”

 

 


	25. Thanksgiving Dinner Act One:  Pie & A Present

Dean showed Castiel how to peel an apple in one long cascading spiral of peel, then he left him to it while he rinsed and pitted cherries in the kitchen sink. By the time the cherries were sitting in a bowl with sugar and a little tapioca and lemon zest, a bowl of frozen blueberries and sugar keeping it company, Castiel had peeled about half the apples. Dean found a cutting board, showed Cas how he wanted them cut, and took over peeling while Castiel meticulously cut apples. 

 

Dean was done peeling the rest of the apples well before Castiel was done cutting, and he grinned fondly watching Castiel concentrate, carefully cutting each apple into perfect halves, then perfect quarters, then perfect eighths, before scooping the bits of core out of their centers and fastidiously placing the wedges in the bowl to join their brethren. Dean joined Cas at the counter, their elbows occasionally ever-so-gently brushing, to measure sugar and spices into the bowl receiving the apple wedges, admiring the shiny new measuring cups and spoons, their weight and heft pleasing to his hands.

 

When Dean stepped to the sink to open the cabinet below, reaching for the empty wine bottle they used as a rolling pin, he felt Castiel’s full attention wrap itself around his shoulders and settle into his chest as the most pleasant pressure, pulsing and heavy. He looked up to smile at Cas and found him watching intently, a shy smile teasing his lips. Dean’s confusion as he studied Castiel’s expression compounded as his hand reached for the bottle and he felt unfamiliar paper and ribbon tickle his fingers, looked down in surprise to find a wrapped gift, the bright red paper reflective and shiny, the box taller than the wine bottle had been, gold ribbon tassels cascading from the top corner where the ribbon was wound around the box diagonally. 

 

Dean looked to Castiel again, a question on his face, and Castiel answered shyly “a gift, Dean.” Cas’s fingers toyed nervously with the handle of the knife he was holding, his face soft and nervous. “Open it,” he instructed, his voice barely a whisper.

 

Dean lifted the box gently out from under the sink, held it in both hands like it was crystal. He carried it over to the kitchen table, set it down on its side, ribbon side up, and sat down in a chair to examine it. Sam glanced up from the living room, his face lighting up with interest, and he heaved himself off the couch to come take a look, snagging a cinnamon apple wedge from the bowl on the counter and leaning over to whisper a question in Castiel’s ear.

 

Castiel shook his head and glanced meaningfully at Dean, his eyebrows raised and his eyes sparkling. Sam would have to wait until Dean opened it, which he was endeavoring to do - pulling gently at the ribbon and examining the edges of the package for tape until he realized all he had to do was lift the top; the box was nested in a lid that contained all but the back side, wrapping paper and ribbon and all.  Dean gripped the box at both ends and lifted, the vacuum action making the bottom slide out ever-so-slowly until it caught air, at which point the lid lifted away smoothly to reveal a dark wooden cylinder, gleaming where it lay nestled in gold tissue paper, the tissue dark in spots with oil.

 

“They said to oil it,” Castiel explained uncertainly, “they gave me a bottle of the oil and I oiled it every day until yesterday, so it would be ready…” he faltered as Dean lifted the rolling pin out of the box and admired it, turning it this way and that in the sunlight streaming in the kitchen. The cylinder had handles turned into it at each end, all one piece, dark and rich, with gorgeous stripes of grain wrapping the center horizontally against the grain that ran the length of it.

 

“What kind of wood is this?” Dean breathed at last, his face enchanted as he traced a finger along the grain of it, marvelling. Sam leaned in to get a closer look and his eyebrows rose as he too looked to Castiel to hear his answer.

 

“Curly black walnut,” Castiel answered softly. “They had other kinds and they said you could exchange it for any other one if you don’t like this one -”

 

“ -  _ No! _ ” Dean exclaimed, almost shouting, and he looked up in apology as Castiel winced and Sam grinned. “No,“ he repeated more quietly, “I  _ mean _ , I love it Cas. I _ love _ it.”  He relaxed his hands as he noticed his knuckles, white where he was gripping the shining barrel of the thing like someone might take it from him. Dean managed to relinquish his treasure to Sam, who was reaching for it to get a closer look.  “I don’t want to exchange it Cas, I love  _ this one _ ,” Dean insisted, smiling up at Castiel until Castiel’s uncertainty melted into bashful pleasure and his creased forehead relaxed into satisfaction.

 

Sam whistled, low and impressed. “Did you see this?” he asked Dean, pointing at the end of one of the handles. Dean grabbed it back, turning to see in the light. There was a tiny “DW” woodburned into the end in a fancy script and Dean’s eyes lit up in delight as he examined it, looked up at Cas again to watch Castiel blush with pleasure and embarrassment. 

 

“I didn’t know how you’d feel about that,” Castiel shrugged, “but monogramming was free with purchase.” He grinned, pleased, as Dean’s smile lit up the kitchen like a welding spark, so bright Castiel could have sworn his retinas held afterimages as he was forced to look away to compose himself, Dean’s ultraviolet spark making his own eyes burn.

 

Mercifully, Dean turned his attention to the refrigerator, pulling out several plastic-wrapped balls of dough to set them on the counter, his excitement palpable. Sam laughed and stole more apple wedges as Dean slapped at his hand, escaping victoriously back to the living room to get out of their hair, while Dean pulled out the new glass pie plates and set the stack of them on the kitchen table. He showed Castiel how to grease one, using a paper towel and a thick wedge of butter, tapping a little flour around in the pie plate over the sink to evenly coat the butter and then setting it down on the table. He left Castiel to it and carefully ran a paper towel over the rolling pin to catch any extra oil but Castiel had done a perfect job. There was no excess oil on the paper towel.  Dean sprinkled flour into a circle on Castiel’s spotless counter, unwrapped a ball of dough, and set it down in the center, brandishing the rolling pin like a lightsaber, sound effects and all.

 

Castiel snickered and stepped over to watch, and Dean shuddered almost imperceptibly as the familiar weight of Castiel’s full attention wrapped around him, soft and heavy, like every Thursday for the last few months but this time from so much closer. The hair on the back of Dean’s neck and on his arms stood up as Cas leaned a little closer than usual to watch and he felt the slightest hint of Cas’s breath on his ear. He took a deep breath, gripped his new weapon with both hands, and pressed it into the dough.

 

The ball of buttered flour was hard but it yielded easily under Dean’s patient pressure, the little sprinkling of flour on top almost unnecessary the pin was so well oiled but he added it anyway by habit, rapidly rolling out a flat circle, setting the pin aside to spatula his way under the circle, slide it smoothly into the pie plate Castiel set beside him on the counter, pressing the dough down into the base with his thumbs and cutting away the excess around the rim with Castiel’s sharp paring knife. 

 

He did four more just the same, setting the pie plate back on the table each time. When the sixth bottom crust was in place Dean didn’t set that plate back on the table, instead he reached for the bowl of apples, gently poured enough into the waiting crust to reach some arbitrary level of enough that only he could see, and handed the bowl to Cas with an eyebrow towards the living room.  Castiel smiled and delivered the remaining apples to a pleased Sammy without a word, returning to watch Dean dot the apples with slices of butter, wet two fingers and wipe them around the bottom crust edge. 

  
Dean rolled out another crust, slid it over the apples, and cut away the excess to add that to the ball of scraps on the counter, pressing his thumb around the edges to seal it in a series of little dents that Castiel found utterly, magically, charming. Dean handed the finished pie to Castiel and reached for another empty one on the table as Castiel stood uncertainly holding the assembled apple pie, chewing his lip. “Set her down and poke some holes in her with a fork,” Dean instructed softly, pouring blueberries into the next waiting crust, but he could feel Castiel’s consternation and looked up as he set down the empty blueberry bowl.

 

Castiel had gotten as far as the “set her down,” and he was holding a fork, but there was so much worried dismay on his face Dean stifled a smile and took pity on him. “Poke twelve times in three evenly spaced spokes of four fork stabs each, Cas,” he amended, and watched Castiel sag with relief, watched him painstakingly carry out his instructions perfectly, watched him look up for approval. Dean nodded, smiling, and turned away before Cas could see affection washing over him like a wave, the sudden strong desire to just throw his arms around Cas and squeeze him probably inappropriate to act on three days in a row.

 

Dean fluted the blueberry crust, handed that one to Cas to perforate, then rolled out a thick oval instead of a flat circle. Castiel raised an eyebrow and Dean grinned, reached into the silverware drawer for a butter knife, and cut parallel alternating two-inch slits the long way down the crust, about an inch apart, down the whole length of it. He winked at Cas as he slid the crust off the counter, stretching it sideways as he pulled it onto the cherry pie to form a pattern of open parallelograms that made Castiel’s jaw drop and then had him grinning ear to ear with the ingenuity of it. 

 

“Lazy Man’s Lattice,” Dean explained, grinning back. “A trick of Uncle Bobby’s.” He grabbed the sharp apple knife to slice away the excess, sealed this one’s edge with a fork just to show off, and handed it to Cas to add to their lineup as he crossed to the cabinet with the cans of pumpkin and condensed milk. A couple rinsed bowls and some can opener and whisk work and two pumpkin pies and a pecan pie joined the lineup, their crusts fluted in the exact size and shape of Dean’s thumbs and index finger, and Dean set to work wrapping the edges of his crusts in protective circles of aluminum foil as Cas tore identical three-inch strips from the box one by one and handed them over. 

 

They slid the pies onto the racks in Castiel’s preheated oven, two per rack, only losing foil and having to fix it on one of them in the process. Dean lifted the oven door gently but it still shut with a satisfying victory  _ thunk _ .  He extended a closed fist to Cas, knuckles down, and Castiel stared at the fist for several long seconds before he figured out what was required and extended his own, pressed his knuckles to Dean’s. Castiel’s fingers tingled at the contact but if Dean’s did he didn’t show it, nodding approvingly at Cas’s closed fist and then retracting his own to glance at the clock. Dean’s lips moved silently as he did some mental math, set the timer, started piling dishes in the sink.

  
  


 


	26. Thanksgiving Dinner Act Two: Ice (Turkey) & Fire

Castiel didn’t need instructions for cleanup; he helped gather the pie-prep dishes and set about washing them while Dean wiped down the counters and hauled potatoes and carrots and celery out of the fridge onto the counter, found onions in the cabinet where he’d left them and pulled those out too. He consulted his scrawled notes, still tucked in his back pocket from last night, and collected his aromatics from the fridge as well, setting the apple and cinnamon and half an onion in a soup bowl to wait for the turkey and going ahead and dicing the rest of the onions he needed for the stuffing since his eyes were already watering.

 

Castiel looked up from the sink as his eyes started to sting and he fought down a surge of emotion as his chest lurched to see Dean’s eyes rimmed in red, one tear actually threatening to fall.  _ It’s not real  _ he assured himself, willing his heart rate to slow, forcing the sympathetic tendrils of fear down, away.  _ He’s fine. _

 

Dean looked up as he felt Castiel’s concern and his face registered dismay at the expression he found on Cas’s face. “Are you okay Cas?,” he asked, the tears in his eyes causing Castiel to feel very much the opposite of okay.

 

Castiel smoothed his face with a visible effort, took a deep breath. “I’m fine, Dean.” Dean searched his face, looking for the rest of the truth, and Castiel shut his eyes and blew out his breath slowly for several heartbeats, opened them to look Dean in his glassy eyes and give his confession. “I know it’s the onions,” he sighed, his voice barely above a whisper, “but I cannot bear to see you unhappy.”

 

Dean’s eyes widened, and he wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “I’m not unhappy Cas, I promise.” He smiled gently at Castiel, studying his face. Discussing his feelings wasn’t high on his list of shit to do today - or any day ever, to be completely honest - but Cas just looked so dejected. He was obviously trying to rally, but a couple onion tears looked like they were on the verge of giving him a panic attack. Dean nodded to himself, and decided to give Castiel a little more to work with. 

 

“This is my favorite Thanksgiving in years, Cas,” Dean admitted softly, feeling the truth of it as he spoke. Yes he missed Bobby, and with that dull, ever-present ache, Dad, but this felt good. Like family.

 

Castiel shook his head in disbelief. “You don’t have to patronize me, Dean. I am not a child.”

 

“I’m not.” Dean retorted flatly, his soft expression flickering out like a candle. “I like being here. With you. And Sam. And this bird.” He kicked the five gallon pail where it sat on the floor beside the refrigerator, backpedaling from the vulnerability of discussing inside feelings with his outside voice as fast as he could, and Castiel took the hint, breaking the eye contact and crossing the kitchen to lift the pail with surprising ease, setting it on the counter beside the sink and stepping back to see how Dean would like to proceed.

 

Dean set his onion operation aside, rinsed his hands to reach into the ice water and haul out twenty-plus pounds of freezing turkey, set her in the sink to rinse inside and out and sit to drain for a moment. He looked to Cas for permission to pour the brine down the second bay of the sink and Cas nodded, shouldn’t be anything the municipal water system couldn’t handle. Castiel grabbed the roasting pan and rack to set beside the sink for Dean, and even though Dean’s face was closed now, Castiel couldn’t let it lie.

 

“It’s my favorite,” he said quietly.

 

“What?”

 

“My favorite Thanksgiving ever,” Castiel elaborated, staring at his hands where he was gripping the roasting rack and carefully, deliberately, not looking at Dean.

 

Dean accepted the apology they both understood was contained in Castiel’s statement, nodded, and relaxed his guard a fraction. He didn’t say anything, but he leaned towards Cas to bump their shoulders together ever-so-gently, and Castiel didn’t sidestep immediately this time, returned the pressure for the briefest moment before, as always, stepping a respectful distance out of Dean’s personal space, this time ostensibly to fetch him the bowl of aromatics waiting on the counter.

 

“RIGHT,” Dean exclaimed, “I’m supposed to microwave those. Is this bowl microwave safe?” He studied the handmade pottery bowl, quite lovely in earth tone glazes, but Castiel wasn’t sure. 

 

“They  _ said _ it was, but I cracked one once so I never believe them now,” Castiel explained, producing a well-worn two-cup pyrex measuring cup from one of his cabinets. “Here, I’ve never cracked this one.” 

 

Dean accepted the implement with a grin, measured a cup of water into it from the sink, and dropped the aromatics in, one by one, from a little higher than necessary to watch them splash. He handed the dish to Cas and waved a hand. “Five minutes on high,” he instructed, returning to dicing his onions while Castiel dealt with his microwave settings.

 

They both jumped when the oven timer went off.  Dean scrambled to rearrange the pies on the oven racks in some sort of rotation Castiel could not make heads or tails of despite watching with rapt attention, and he reset the timer for another twenty minutes. He hissed reaching into the boiling cup of water Cas handed him to retrieve the cinnamon stick while Cas shook his head and commented dryly “Consider the fork, Dean, most versatile of all eating utensils.”  

 

Dean grinned and waved his middle finger at Cas good naturedly. “Consider the middle finger, Cas, most versatile of  _ all _ the fingers -  “

 

“- Ha Ha, Dean,” Cas cut him off, grinning, stabbing the apple and handing Dean the handle of the fork. “You’re hilarious.”

 

“ _ He _ certainly thinks so!” Sam chimed in from the living room, and Dean flipped him off too with his free hand behind his back, grinning and shoving the apple into the bird’s cavity to pull it back out empty and stab the onion next. He shoved in the rosemary and sage, patted the bird dry with a paper towel, and washed his hands diligently. 

 

“Your turn, Cas.” Dean’s grin was pure mischief, as he handed Cas the bottle of canola oil like a waiter presenting a pepper grinder. “Rub her down, nothing to it.”

 

Castiel raised an eyebrow at Dean, completely unfazed. He accepted the oil, set it down to wash his hands. Dean watched him pour a little oil in his hand, massage it into the bird, his long fingers and palm gently stroking an even sheen over the pale skin as he poured more oil into his hand and made sure to get the sides and the drumsticks. Dean was mesmerized, inexplicably growing very warm - the pies must really be heating up the kitchen - and to his embarrassment even feeling his face flush a little as Castiel finished, tucking the wings under the bird and turning to grin smugly at Dean. 

 

“They aired the turkey episode every day for weeks, Dean,” Castiel remarked, turning to wash his hands, and Dean deflated, thwarted.

 

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that.”

 

“I’m a learning model, Dean. By this time next year I might well be sentient.” 

 

Castiel grinned triumphantly as Dean laughed out loud, his cascade of joyous laughter bright and contagious. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get too cocky, Skynet,” Dean admonished, once he’d caught his breath. “Let’s see how you do at root vegetables, wise guy.” He pointed at the bags of potatoes and carrots officiously in a terrible impression of a drill sergeant and Castiel snorted and did as he was told, shaking his head and refusing to dignify Dean’s terrible impression with even a hint of a salute.

 

Dean fiddled with pie arrangements and reset the timer while Cas set about peeling potatoes, eschewing Dean’s potato peeler for his paring knife. By the time Dean had the pies where he wanted them, strips of foil stacked on the counter where he’d removed them, Cas had already peeled an impressive number of potatoes; nothing like his performance with the apples. Dean watched him work for a minute, his eyebrows lifting. Cas was _ fast  _ with potatoes, nothing like the methodical precision he had employed with the other tasks Dean had assigned him to, and the contrast was jarring. Dean stared, wondering, and Cas looked up between potatoes, winked, and returned to his task without offering a single hint of explanation.

 

WELL, wasn’t Cas just a man of mystery, then. Dean rinsed and chopped celery and set about sauteing the celery and onions with an entire stick of butter, filling Castiel’s egg-frying pan almost to overflowing and still having to do it in two batches, spearing escapees with a fork to return them to the pan as he slowly stirred and hummed to himself, ducking down every few minutes to look through the spotless glass oven door to check his pies, and waiting for translucence. 

 

Eventually he reached it, and he scooped the first batch into the biggest bowl available, the one that they’d used for the apples. Cas had finished the potatoes and was halfway through the carrots now. For carrots Dean noticed he did switch to the peeler but he was still lightning fast, turning each carrot six or seven times to swipe a length of peel, turn, peel, and toss the finished carrot to the left in maybe three or four seconds flat, repeat. Dean stared, then he  _ had _ to ask, but Cas looked up as he felt the question, shook his head no silently, mouthed “army” without a sound. Dean’s eyes widened and he winced, felt like an idiot to have even asked. He shot a worldless apology Cas’s way and Castiel shrugged, smiled. He returned to his task and Dean to his, sauteing the second batch of celery and onions in their own entire stick of butter.

 

By the time Dean was scooping the second batch of butter-with-a-soup ç on-of-celery-and-onions into the big bowl, Castiel had rinsed the root vegetables and quartered the potatoes, and he had the carrots rinsed and looked to Dean to see how he wanted those cut. “Half inch rounds?” Dean suggested, and Cas nodded and got to it, sidestepping out of the way as Dean started pulling the first several pies out of the oven to set on folded dish towels on the counter, smelling so damn good Sam magically appeared in the doorway to watch and drool.

 

Dean shook his head, pointed imperiously at the doughnut box still on the table, and Sam harrumphed his way back out with a handful of pastry and a long face. 

 

“Have you ever let him have pie before turkey?” Castiel asked, musing.

 

“Never.”

 

“Once!” Sam corrected from the living room, “the year the turkey was frozen, remember?”

 

Dean wiped his hands on his jeans and crossed the kitchen, bewildered, to stare at Sam.

 

“When?”

 

“At Uncle Bobby’s. You brought me a giant plate of pie and ice cream, and we hadn’t had turkey because you said it was an ice turkey.”

 

Dean stared at Sam, thinking hard. “You remember that? You couldn’t have been five years old, Sam, I was eight that year. I remember because when we headed to Bobby’s the night before I asked Dad if I could drive to Uncle Bobby’s yet and he said ‘Two more years, son, double digits. Then we’ll talk.’”

 

Sam stared at Dean, his mouth hanging open. “Dad let you drive when you were TEN?”

 

“Yeah, nevermind that, how do you remember pie at four years old?”

 

“Dunno. I just remember there was an ice turkey and you brought me a giant plate of pie and you were so proud of it and you carried it so carefully so you wouldn’t drop it, and you put it in my lap on the couch and handed me a fork out of your back pocket and I ate pie until I felt sick, and then I kept right on going.” 

 

Sam looked up at Dean affectionately, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth, while Dean stared at him in surprise, his face as tender as Castiel had ever seen it. Castiel held his breath, loathe to interrupt but dying of curiosity all the same. He didn’t say a word, but Dean offered him an explanation without taking his eyes off Sam.

 

“Dad dropped us off at Uncle Bobby’s that year the night before Thanksgiving with a frozen turkey and disappeared for a week. Uncle Bobby hadn’t been expecting us and he hadn’t planned to cook a turkey for just himself, but he got me up early and we made pies together all morning, and we ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and pie until the turkey thawed out enough to cook a couple days later.” Dean was still smiling fondly at Sam and he spoke louder now, addressing Sam. “That doesn’t count, because Uncle Bobby said you could have that pie.”

 

“But you gave it to me.”

 

“Semantics.”

 

“You helped make it and you gave it to me, so you let me have it.” Sam was smug and insistent, and Dean let him have this too, his face soft and fond.

 

“Alright then, so I did. Once.” He turned to face Castiel at last, grinning. “Those were my first pies, and most of that crust was hard as a rock.”

 

Sam countered loftily from the couch. “Don’t listen to him, Cas, those pies were the best pies  _ ever _ . I should know, I ate three of them by myself.”

 

Dean laughed, shaking his head affectionately, but Sam wasn’t done. “I didn’t remember that Dad left for a week, Dean.”

 

Dean was perplexed. “He showed up a week later Sam, smelling like a bar and looking like a homeless guy, and Uncle Bobby wouldn’t let him take us until he came back sober and took a shower. Read him the riot act about the frozen turkey, too. How can you not remember Dad was gone?”

 

Sam shrugged. “You were there.”

 

Castiel felt tears spring to his eyes and he saw that Dean was not immune, bright eyes glazing as he crossed the living room, dragged a surprised Sam to his feet, and wrapped his arms around his brother. Sam hugged back, grinning and squeezing until Dean groaned and then backing off a little as Dean muttered “You’ve gotten too big for your own good.” 

 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the only one complaining,” Sam answered, casually standing up straighter and getting up on his tiptoes until Dean laughed and released him to throw an arm over his shoulder, haul his head down, and attempt to give him a noogie. They were  _ way _ too big to wrestle in Sam’s nest of laptop and books and only one book had to topple off the coffee table for both of them to stop and look guiltily at Cas, who had one eyebrow raised but hadn’t actually said a word yet.

 

“Children…”

 

“Sorry” they said in unison, but only Dean continued “...  _ Daddy _ ,” and Sam _ lost his shit _ , doubling over and laughing so hard he almost knocked his own books over. Dean looked pleased with himself and retreated to the kitchen to check on his pumpkin pies, always fighting him to the last, before flashing Cas a half-apologetic grin. Castiel shook his head that it wasn’t needed, he was still watching Sam giggle, and he indicated with a head tilt that that seemed well worth the indignity of Dean abusing his permissiveness. Dean nodded agreement and returned his attention to the oven, rearranging racks and cranking the temperature before shutting the door to let it heat. He stepped back to admire the finished pies and Cas joined him, standing near enough this time that Dean could feel heat radiating from Castiel’s body, warming his side in the already stifling kitchen. Cas must burn furnace hot.

 

When the giggling from the living room finally abated, Castiel spoke sternly, loudly enough to carry.

 

“Dean, I believe you are abusing the permission I so graciously granted you.”

 

Dean startled, turning to search Castiel’s face immediately, dismayed until Castiel winked at him, then he waited, grinning, to see what would come next. Castiel raised an eyebrow imperiously, the one that made Dean’s neck and ears warm for no clear reason, and he continued in a stern tone that made Dean squirm uncomfortably even though he  _ knew _ Cas was kidding.

 

“I thought it was understood that ‘Daddy’ was only to be used in private, Dean, but I see you need more instruction. In mixed company, you may call me ‘Sir.’”

 

Dean stared at Castiel, completely speechless with his face incidentally on fire, as they listened to Sam exclaim “Oh my GOD” and devolve into another giggling spell. Castiel grinned at Dean and crossed the kitchen to lean in the arch between the kitchen and living room, smugly watching his handiwork, while Dean composed himself -  _ Stop blushing you idiot, he’s just fucking around you’re not really in trouble you can’t BE in trouble   _ \- and joined him to watch Sam moan and clutch his stomach and snicker up at the two of them from the floor. 

 

“You’re in _ trouble _ Dean,“ Sam gasped, “Daddy’s gonna PUNISH youuuu,” and finally succeeded in knocking his own books over as he started giggling all over again, fit to burst.

 

Castiel looked so pleased with himself that Dean started to feel a little affronted, harrumphing out loud and crossing his arms as he leaned in the arch, watching Sam’s mirth at his expense. Castiel glanced up sharply at the sound and shot him a look of pleading apology, indicating the glory that was Sam clutching his stomach on the floor with a tilt of his head, his face silently begging, with both eyebrows raised,  _ wasn’t it worth it?   _

 

Dean relented. He shrugged and shot Cas a wry grin. Yeah, okay, it was worth it. He hadn’t seen Sam laugh like that since his semester started and Sam was still dying, mostly spent but snickering a little to himself in spells, curled up on the carpet partly under the coffee table.

 

_ Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. _

 

“My apologies,  _ Sir, _ ” Dean offered, playing it as as straight as he could manage. “Please be gentle with me, I swear it won’t happen again. May I please be excused to roast you a turkey,  _ Sir _ ?”

 

Castiel turned his full attention to Dean, his brows raised in surprise, his scrutiny making Dean feel like squirming. He stared at Dean without blinking for a long moment, his face inscrutable, then he nodded his satisfaction, his approval palpable, and somehow that made Dean feel like squirming even worse. 

 

“Your attitude pleases me greatly, Dean,” he purred, his eyes twinkling. “All is forgiven. Of course you have my word I will always be gentle with you.” His smile turned wicked as he added, in a low growl, “Unless, of course, you ask  _ very _ nicely.” Castiel winked at Dean and turned back to the living room, contentedly watching Sam gasp and moan that he was going to piss himself, while Dean turned away to cross the kitchen, open the oven door, slide the roasting pan with the oiled turkey inside, his face on fire and Castiel’s praise  - even though he  _ knew  _ none of this was real, even though he  _ knew  _ they were just fucking around - swirling around in his chest, wrapping him in a warm blanket of bashful pleasure that buzzed in his veins and made his face burn with embarrassment that he couldn’t stop his  _ very real _ pride at the  _ very fake _ approval from Castiel. 

Dean shut the oven door, the five hundred degree heat making his face sweat even in the the few seconds he’d been leaning into the blast, and leaned over the stove to set the timer for half an hour, thinking about the rest of what Castiel had said.  _ Holy Hell _ , he had no way of telling if any of that was pulled from Castiel’s real life playbook, but _ if it was _ , whoever was hooking up with Cas sounded like they were in for one hell of a ride. He wondered idly what Castiel’s type was, grinned to himself and straightened up, startled guiltily as he realized Castiel was silently watching him. He had been too absorbed in his thoughts to notice Castiel’s attention and he flushed hotly to be caught speculating about Castiel’s private life.

 

Castiel watched Dean maneuver the turkey into the oven. He almost managed not to admire Dean’s capable ease at lifting it, the way his biceps, then his forearms flexed in turn as his arms extended with their burden. He entirely failed to resist admiring the way the heat made Dean’s face flush, and how good Dean looked with sweat beading on his forehead.  _ Jesus H Christ, do NOT.  _ Castiel shut his eyes for a moment, willing away impure thoughts he should  _ absolutely not  _ be entertaining about his friend’s body. 

 

The line of banter for Sam’s benefit had been a mistake, Castiel decided. Yes, seeing Sam hurt himself laughing had been wonderful, but Dean’s playful faux deference had ignited a simmering tension in him, something unfamiliar, dark and powerful. He took a deep breath and pushed it down; pushed it away. Castiel opened his eyes, marginally more relaxed, and was just in time to catch Dean’s glance as he turned away from the timer and realized Castiel was looking his way. Dean looked uncomfortably warm, and Castiel realized that he felt quite warm as well, maybe that explained some of his discomfort.  He smiled at Dean, crossing to open the front door and waving Dean towards the window over the kitchen sink. 

 

“It’s sweltering in here; let’s set up a cross draft,” he explained. “My apologies, I never cook so I didn’t think of it sooner, but I just realized my core temperature has been slowly rising like the  apocryphal frog sitting in a saucepan. You must be even worse off from the oven just now.”

 

Dean nodded gratefully, wiping his forehead on his sleeve, and crossed to open the window Castiel had indicated. The temperature in the kitchen dropped immediately, and both men stepped out the front door into a twenty-something degree temperature drop with audible groans of relief.

 

“Oh my  _ god _ ,” Dean sighed, pulling his tee shirt away from his body by the neckline and waving it back and forth to vent himself, “that is SO much better. I hadn’t realized.” 

 

“Me neither,” Castiel agreed, running a hand through hair he hadn’t realized was soaking through with sweat. His hand came away damp, and he wiped it on his jeans. “I think we deserve a beer.”

 

 


	27. Thanksgiving Dinner Act Three: Beer & Scrabble

Dean looked both completely on board with the idea and chagrined to be the bearer of bad news. “We drank it all last night, Cas, and nothing’s gonna be open today.”

 

“We drank all of  _ yours _ , that is certainly true...” 

 

Dean looked sharply at Castiel, hope playing across his face, while Castiel’s eyes danced and a slow grin crept across his countenance. “I wanted to surprise you, so I didn’t put them in the refrigerator.” He smiled with delight as Dean’s entire face lit up. “I bought a cooler to surprise you… come help me get it, it was a bear to get upstairs.” 

 

Dean eagerly followed Castiel through the kitchen and living room, past a curious Sammy, up the stairs, down the hallway past the guest room, and into what must be Castiel’s office, lined floor to ceiling with dark bookshelves overflowing with books. Dean didn’t get a chance to look at any of the spines, Castiel was already hoisting one end of an impressively large cooler, and Dean scrambled to grasp the other handle and lift it - still a struggle even for two strong men - and follow Castiel back down the hallway and down the stairs, through the living room - where they gained a curious tail - and into the kitchen. Castiel tilted his head near the front door and they set it there, Castiel grinning and letting the boys fight over opening it to peer inside.

 

“Holy shit,” Dean breathed, and even Sam’s mouth fell open as Castiel preened at their delight.

 

The cooler was camping sized, like car-camping-for-a-family sized, the kind that claimed it could keep ice frozen for a week. You could have fit a body inside, but Castiel had filled it instead with a veritable cornucopia of beer, more kinds than Dean could count at a glance peeking out from under the ice. Among the heady draughts there were a few El Sols in one corner, and even some glass bottles of soda. 

 

“How did you get this upstairs by yourself?” Sam asked at last, reaching in to liberate a root beer in a dark brown bottle and twisting off the cap in his tee shirt.

 

“Empty,” Castiel admitted. “I bought beer and soda over the last month here and there and I got ice for it this week, and only once I had it filled did I realize the error of my ways.” He grinned. “But Lord knows I couldn’t drink it by myself either, so it’s fine that I needed help to carry it. I expect it will be lighter after today.”

 

“We will do our best to be of service,” Dean solemnly decreed, reaching for an El Sol by force of habit. Castiel shook his head and reached in for a dark brew instead, offering it to Dean with a smile and an “I-dare-you” eyebrow.

Dean accepted with a smile, and reached into his pocket for his keys to open it, take a pull. It was bitter on the front of his tongue, dark and malty on the back, and he sighed happily, tilting back another long swallow while Castiel grinned and held out his hand to borrow Dean’s opener. 

 

“Jeez, Dean,” Sam warned, “it’s not even noon yet. Pace yourself, wouldja?”

 

“Shaaaddap Sam.” Dean rolled his eyes but glanced surreptitiously at the label anyway, pocketing his keys as Castiel handed them back. Seven point four percent, Cas wasn’t fucking around, and he did  _ not _ want to pull a Dad today. He took one more swallow as a matter of pride and then closed the lid to the cooler and set his beer down on the table. “Alright, I guess we’ve got about two hours before we should make the potatoes and stuffing, and the pies are done. 

 

Castiel and Sam looked at Dean expectantly.

 

“So, according to Winchester family tradition, at this point of the Holiday we should either turn on the game, or have an argument, or both. Preferences?”

 

Sam snorted while Castiel studied his beer, amusement playing around his lips, but something else, too. Wistfulness.

 

“Cas?” Dean asked gently, “is there something you’d like us to do, a tradition or something…?” he waited, uncertain, until Castiel lifted his face to meet Dean’s eyes.

 

“Please not an argument,” he begged, his face trying for humor but looking to Dean for all the world like Sam had when he was little and worried, his eyes pleading like a child’s.

 

“Of course not Cas,” Dean soothed, “I was only teasing. Besides, this is your house. We are gonna make some brand new Novak traditions, right?”

 

Castiel’s expression still looked like a child’s to Dean, but now a thrilled one, faced with a choice of ice cream flavors.

 

“ _ Really? _ ”

 

“Yes, really. What would you, Castiel Novak, head of this household, like to do until it’s time to make potatoes and stuffing?”

 

Sam and Dean both stared at Castiel, grinning expectantly, while Castiel’s eyes widened in impossible hope.

 

“Could we… will you.. “ Castiel looked shy all of a sudden, as the boys waited. “Will you play Scrabble with me?”

 

“Huh?” Dean looked completely taken by surprise, while Sam’s face spread in a huge grin. 

 

“Of  _ course _ we will, Cas!” Sam answered for both of them. “What dictionary for challenges?”

 

“Can we use swears?” Dean demanded in the same breath, as Castiel’s face transitioned from shy to bashfully pleased. 

 

“I’ll get the game,” he said softly, “and a Dictionary, and certainly Dean we can add a House rule allowing profanity but it has to be profanity all three of us have heard and can agree on the spelling for, if the dictionary doesn’t define it.” He disappeared up the stairs while Sam and Dean shared an incredulous look, not daring to say anything, but wide-eyed all the same at the mystery that was Castiel. 

 

By the time Castiel had appeared with the game and an old red-bound copy of Merriam Webster’s, the boys had arranged themselves around the kitchen table with their faces schooled to expectant competitiveness instead of surprised interest.

 

“Sam’s a pretty good speller,” Dean warned playfully, watching Castiel attempt to stretch ancient rubber bands wrapped around the faded box, “and fair warning, I know a  _ lot _ of swears.” 

 

That got a real smile out of the somewhat subdued Castiel currently brushing aside crumbling pieces of rubber band as he pried the faded lid up with his fingertips. He looked up to grin at Dean and retort “We’ll see, Dean. I know a great deal more profanity than you will ever hear me use,” before returning his attention to getting the box open. The lid came away in a puff of dusty air and Castiel lifted out the game board and gasped. All three of them peered inside the box in surprise. 

 

There was a cloth bag of letters of course, and four wooden trays for letters visible peeking out, but it was the crumpled dollar bills that really caught the eye. The box was stuffed full of them, in various denominations but mostly twenties as far as Dean could surmise, all of them crumpled or folded into small wads.

 

Castiel reached into the box with shaking hands while Sam and Dean stared at him in confusion, his face a combination of shock and sorrow.

 

“He said… he said I should have this, that it wouldn’t be right to play without me,” Castiel whispered, his voice breaking. “He shoved it into my hands and insisted I take it with me, made me promise to keep it safe. I thought it was the dumbest thing to make me take, but I promised, so I kept it safe...” his hands trembled as he caressed the bills, found a piece of yellowed paper in the midst of the bills and pulled it out.

 

Neither Winchester dared breathe as Castiel read the note, his eyes filling with tears.

 

He handed it to Dean without saying a word, waving his hand for Dean to take care of it while he fought to compose himself. Dean read the note out loud, his voice breaking as he did so.

 

_ “Cas, I’m so sorry.  _

_ Dad’s a giant prick, and Luci and Michael can kiss my ass. I have to stick it out here six more months until I get to college but then I want you to come find me. Don’t you dare buy my motorcycle with this, get an apartment and hang in there. I’ll see you soon Baby Bro.  _

_ \- Love, Gabe _ ”

 

He looked at Castiel, not daring to ask, but Castiel answered anyway, his voice barely a whisper. 

 

“My brother, Gabriel. He liked to tease me because I was the youngest, but he was barely older than me, not even two years older.” Castiel’s voice cracked as he fought tears, whispered “He was saving for a motorcycle.”

 

Sam was sitting closer to Castiel and it was Sam who wrapped his arms around Cas and held him as he broke down sobbing, rubbed his back as Dean leapt up to handle the turkey timer. Dean turned down the heat in a daze and came back to sit next to the two of them, his eyes red in sympathy as he caught Sam’s eye and they shared an agonized, helpless look over Castiel’s shoulder.  _ Holy. Fuck.  _

 

Eventually, Castiel quieted, his wracking sobs just hiccups now, and Sam let go of him, while Dean rubbed his shoulder helplessly.  They waited uncertainly for what Castiel might want to do, and when Castiel looked up, they looked so worried he immediately apologized.

 

“I’m sorry guys, I didn’t mean to ruin - “   
  


“ _ No! _ ” Castiel’s eyes widened to be yelled at in stereo, but two Winchesters now assured him that he wasn’t ruining anything with such vigor he could almost believe them. He sighed, and rubbed his face with his hands. 

 

“This was... unexpected. In twenty years I never opened this box, and now I am at a loss to imagine how things might have gone differently if I had.”  Castiel’s eyes welled with fresh tears but he took a deep breath and managed to compose himself. “There’s nothing I can do about the past,” he sighed, “but I no longer feel like playing Scrabble, if that’s alright.”

 

“You can’t change the past,” Dean agreed gently, “but you can change the future. You can find him Cas, the internet makes finding people a lot easier than it used to be.” He smiled gently, daring to reach out and cover Castiel’s hand with his for a moment. “And of course we don’t have to play Scrabble, don’t be fucking ridiculous, this is a huge deal.” 

 

Castiel managed a wan smile, his face blooming a soft hope at Dean’s words.

 

“You think so?”

 

“I  _ know _ so. We can start setting up a search after dinner, okay? Sam and I are  _ good  _ at finding people.”  Sam nodded his agreement, and Castiel’s face looked hopeful and worried and scared all at once.

 

“Tomorrow,” he whispered.

 

“Sorry?” Dean asked.

 

“Can we set up a search tomorrow? I don’t want to face it today, I just… I need a drink and then I want to eat some turkey and pie and to play games - _not_ _Scrabble_ \- with my friends and not think about this right now. Is that okay?” Castiel asked, his face looking terribly young to Dean again.

 

“Of course it’s okay,” Dean assured Castiel, reaching into the cooler to grab him a fresh beer.  “Would you like to kill Sam now?”

 

“HEY!” Sam spluttered, and the mood lifted about a thousand percent as Castiel allowed that yes, yes he  _ would  _ like to kill Sam and also Dean and they good-naturedly snarled “You can  _ try”  _ while they dragged out laptops and headsets and ethernet cables and set up their LAN and contentedly set about murdering the hell out of each other.

 

 


	28. Thanksgiving Dinner Act Four: Dinner & Gratitude

It felt like only minutes before Dean looked at his watch and swore, pulled off his headset and leapt to his feet. Castiel looked up from shooting Sam in the back and pulled his off too, following Dean to the counter as Dean rinsed potato chunks and set them in Castiel's biggest pot on the stove on high. Sam set about clearing their laptops off the table and moving them to the living room while Dean handed Castiel the carrots and the freshly rinsed saute pan, waved a stick of butter at him. 

 

“Stir,” he instructed. “Over a medium flame.” He grinned as Castiel looked uncertain. “I believe in you, Cas.”

 

Castiel rolled his eyes, but he was smiling softly to himself when Dean glanced at him a few minutes later, stirring over a medium flame.  Dean pulled aluminum foil over the casserole dish full of wet stuffing and pressed the edges down, turning his face away to smile, before coming over to turn the potatoes down a hair. 

 

“Okay. Potatoes, carrots, stuffing, pies. What are we missing?” Dean stared wildly at Castiel, whose face started to look panicked until Dean snapped his fingers. “Rolls!”

 

“Cranberry sauce,” Sam chimed in from the living room, and Dean swore softly. “Shit! Right!”

 

He looked at Castiel apologetically. “Can you stir two things at once?”

 

Castiel grinned and shook his head in mock exasperation to be so put upon. “Yes, Dean, I think I can manage. As long as you don’t want me to rub my stomach or pat my head as well.”

 

Dean snorted from inside the refrigerator, where he was rooting around for the bag of cranberries. He emerged, triumphant, ripped open one end of the bag to run water inside, slosh it around as it poured out the holes in the bag. He dumped the berries into Castiel’s small saucepan, spooned a little sugar in, handed the pan with spoon still jauntily perched in the pile of berries to Castiel.

 

“Stir over medium flame, drop it to a simmer when the berries burst.”

 

“That’s it?”

 

“That’s it.”

 

Dean winked at Castiel and silently mouthed “Wait for it…” while Castiel stared at him, puzzled, until Sam hollered in from the living room, his voice plaintive and worried.

 

“Didn't you get the canned kind?”

 

Dean’s giant smile made Castiel cover his mouth to contain his answering laughter while Dean hollered back “YES I got you the canned kind. But Castiel is classy and shit, so he gets fresh.”

 

“Okay, good.” Sam sounded so relieved Dean almost felt bad. Almost, but not quite. He grinned to himself and washed the bowl he’d prepared the stuffing in, measured flour and yeast and sugar and salt into the bowl from memory, heated milk and water and butter in the pyrex and dumped it into the flour mixture, stirred it rapidly with a fork. He glanced up to smile at Castiel who was watching him with rapt attention, marveling.

 

“You don't need a recipe?”

 

“I know this one by heart too, Cas.” Dean grinned as Castiel shook his head, his lips curling into a soft smile, and went back to stirring carrots and cranberries. Dean whisked the dough with a fork until it looked close enough, then he added flour bit by bit until some arbitrary point where he was satisfied. Castiel watched Dean sprinkle flour on the counter, dump the dough onto the counter and start to knead it, humming softly to himself as he turned the edges in towards the center, squished it down a few times until it was flat, folded it in on itself again. Castiel was mesmerized, his breathing slowing and his heartbeat slowing too, reminded suddenly of watching the family cat kneading the blanket on his bed as a child. He wondered idly how Mrs. Frisby was doing these days and then felt a wave of sadness as he realized how much time had passed. Obviously she was long dead.

 

Castiel blew out a breath and turned the cranberries down to a simmer, scooping up a taste and blowing on it carefully before delicately sipping the sauce off the end of the spoon. The flavor carried him instantly to his childhood, his mother handing him a spoon to lick, the sound of his brothers bickering in the background, the kitchen warm and bright. He felt his eyes sting and fought the sorrow, pushed it back down. He was not going to have another emotional outburst today; one was quite enough. He remembered Gabriel stealing his sauce spoon and licking the rest of the sauce off of it with a huge grin on his face, his eyebrows waggling as he teased ‘ _ CANdy _ from a  _ BAby, _ ’ and thought about how he might actually  _ get to see Gabriel again _ and he instantly pushed that away too.  _ It was too much, too much. _

 

Castiel set the tasting spoon down with a sigh and went back to stirring carrots in way too much butter, concentrated on that until he felt composed enough to watch Dean finish kneading the dough. Dean was patting the dough into a ball, tucking it in for a nap under a clean dish towel. He glanced up at Castiel, smiling, then his expression softened as as he studied Castiel’s face. Dean nodded and came over to bump Castiel’s shoulder with his, leaning into Castiel’s space for as long as he figured Cas could handle it, and then smoothly stepping away so Castiel didn’t have to.  

 

“It doesn’t really get easier with time, does it,” he murmured. “That’s the biggest lie they tell you. You just… kinda get used to carrying it around.”

 

Castiel nodded gravely, sighed. “You are exactly correct, Dean. That is an astute assessment.”

 

Dean leaned forward to stick a finger in the cranberry sauce, hissed and stuck the finger in his mouth.

 

Castiel huffed in exasperation. “Why must you reach into things you  _ know _ are boiling hot, Dean?”

 

Dean shrugged, grinning and sucking on the end of his finger. “I like to live on the  _ edge _ , Cas.”

 

Castiel snorted, reaching into the carrot pan to delicately pick an orange disc up from the top of the pile, glistening with butter. He popped it in his mouth, sucked his fingers clean, chewed pensively, swallowed, while Dean’s eyes followed his fingers, watched the butter shine on his lips as he chewed. Dean’s eyes dropped self-consciously, his face a little warm for no reason he could fathom, before Castiel spoke and Dean’s eyes flicked reflexively back up to his butter-shined mouth.

 

“These are done.” Castiel turned away to spin the flame under the carrots down to a simmer, licking his lips,  and turned back to look at Dean. “What’s left?”

 

Dean’s face scrunched up into extreme concentration mode as he ticked off required elements on his fingertips. “Pie, check. Turkey, check. Mashed potatoes, - poke those with a fork, wouldja Cas? Turn ‘em up if they’re firm, down if they’re soft -  Carrots, check. stuffing is ready to go, two kinds of cranberry sauce, rolls are rising...” He grinned at Cas triumphantly. “What could we possibly be missing? I can’t make gravy until the bird’s out.” 

 

Castiel, poking a fork into the potatoes and frowning as he fiddled with the flame, muttered “Something green?” at the exact same moment Sam yelled in from the living room “PEAS!,” and Dean snickered.

 

“You two are lame peas in a pod,” he quipped, and Castiel rolled his eyes while Sam protested from the living room “You GOTTA have peas Dean, or else there’s nothing to float in the gravy lake!”

 

Dean grinned, already spooning the cranberry sauce into one of Castiel’s nice ceramic bowls. “He’s not wrong, Cas. You gotta have peas for the gravy lake.”

 

He rinsed the saucepan and ripped the bag of frozen peas Castiel handed him into it, adding a little water and handing it over to Cas, who set it on the burner and turned on the flame without being prompted. 

 

“Okay, so just gravy left?” Dean asked.

 

“Just?” Castiel echoed in vague disbelief. “How will we  _ possibly _ get all of these things ready at the same time?”

 

Dean grinned. “Practice, Cas. That and you spoon hot gravy over cold turkey like thirty percent of the time.” he grinned even wider as Castiel skepticism visibly increased. “We can do it. I swear. We might need to risk microwaving your bowl for thirty seconds for the cranberry sauce.”

 

“We can eat it cold,” Castiel retorted, watching Dean’s grin spread wider than he would have thought possible.

 

“Yes,  _ Sir _ ,” Dean quipped, turning away to poke the potatoes for himself, turning the flame a little further down than Castiel had. Castiel frowned slightly, discomfited to find himself affected by Dean’s teasing. Whatever he had pushed down earlier wasn’t gone, apparently; sleeping with one eye open wold be a more accurate metaphor. He shut his eyes and clamped down on the unwelcome feelings hard, opened his eyes in full control of himself to find Dean watching him.

 

“You okay Cas?”

 

“Yes, thank you Dean.” 

 

Castiel’s face was completely impassive. Dean studied him for a moment while Castiel stared back at him evenly. Well alrighty then, he wasn’t going to press the issue, but Cas was  _ definitely _ hiding something.

 

They both jumped when the timer went off. It wasn’t the oven timer, it was the new electronic thermometer, which apparently had a high-pitched rapidly beeping type alarm. 

 

“Oh shit,” Dean exclaimed, crossing to press the button that would shut the thing up. “Crunch time!” He rearranged the pans on the burners to make room, and Castiel handed him oven mitts as he opened the oven to pull out the turkey, gloriously brown and steaming, and set the bird on the stovetop, reached back into the oven to rearrange the racks and shove the stuffing in, pushing the door shut with his hip.

 

“Okay, stuffing needs the longest oven stretch, then the rolls go in, potatoes need mashing, gotta make gravy.”

 

“How can I help?”

 

“Do you want to make rolls or stir gravy?”

 

“Uh, gravy?” Castiel sounded worried but willing, but Dean glanced at his mound of quietly resting dough and swore. “ _ Fuck _ . I forgot those still have to rise again, come on we’ll have to short the rise time and I think we’re both working on rolls right now.”

 

He rooted around in the cabinet that held the new pyrex dishes and handed Cas a square one. “Grease me,” he grinned, “but don’t flour me.”

 

Castiel smiled back and got to it while Dean slapped the dough onto a cutting board and chopped it into pieces. He rolled the pieces into balls lightning quick, coating them in butter and setting them on the cutting board until Castiel set the greased pan beside him, then he set them rapidly in the pan as he went, adding the rest when he was done making balls. He was done astonishingly quickly, tossing the dishtowel back over the dough in the pan and washing his hands to move on to the gravy.

 

“Serving platter?” he asked, just in case. Castiel shook his head forlornly, so Dean reached for another pyrex pan. The largest in the set was plenty big enough for the turkey, and Dean grabbed a couple wooden spoons and managed to transfer the turkey from the roasting pan to the pyrex in one fell swoop, without dropping it and only dripping a little. “Cover the bird with aluminum foil, please,” he instructed Cas, as he wiped up the spatter with a paper towel and peered into the roasting pan. The drippings were dark and greasy and smelled delectable, and Dean’s stomach growled to remind him that all he’d eaten today was a couple jelly donuts and a few swallows of beer.  _ Yeah yeah, wait half an hour, _ he chided it, lifting the rack out of the roasting pan to let it drip in the sink.

 

Castiel watched, entranced, as Dean mixed flour and water and savory spices in the pyrex, heated the burner under the roasting pan to whisk the fat and drippings together, spooned some into the pyrex to stir rapidly with a fork, slowly poured the concoction from the pyrex into the hot fat, whisking vigorously all the while.

 

“Why did you put fat in the flour mixture first?” he asked, mystified, and Dean grinned smugly. 

 

“Because if you don’t, you don’t get gravy, you get nasty lumpy dumplings in hot fat instead of gravy. Ask Sam.”

 

“Oh Come on Dean, it was ONE TIME,” Sam huffed, and Dean grinned even wider.

 

“It was memorable, though, you gotta give me that, Sammy!”

 

Sam appeared in the archway, grinning. “Yeah it was.” he surveyed the preparations and grew visibly excited. “Oh, man, this looks great guys. Is it time to set the table, Dean?”

 

“Can’t hurt to be ready,” Dean allowed, whisking in figure-eights for a change of pace. Castiel offered to take over, but Dean grinned and shook his head. “Naw, I don’t mind, and it’s almost done. Pop those rolls in the oven though, top rack please.”

 

Castiel did as he was told and then hustled to wipe down the table while Sam collected silverware and plates and laid them out in Castiel’s wake. Salt and pepper were procured, a stick of butter on a plate, the bowl of cranberry sauce with a spoon. Castiel located the canned cranberry sauce, another bowl, and the can opener; handed them to Sam with a soft smile, and watched Sam open both ends of the can to shove the gelatinous monstrosity out one end with delight, picking off the metal ends and surreptitiously attempting to stick a finger in one end just as Dean scolded “Sam! Pretend we have manners!”

 

Sam grinned and shrugged at Castiel, who grinned back and handed him a spoon. Sam stuck the spoon in the end of the sauce cylinder, cored out a rough sphere and stuck that in his mouth, and Castiel laughed out loud and got him another spoon for the bowl.

 

Soon enough they were scrambling to dish up all the fixings and get them to the table, Dean insisting on mashing the potatoes without assistance and using up most of Castiel’s Half & Half and an  _ entire  _ stick of butter as soon as Castiel’s back was turned. The stuffing was ready, the rolls weren’t, but Dean allowed that they could start carving the turkey and get the rolls out once their plates were full and that  _ counted  _ as everything being ready at once, and no one even considered arguing with him.

 

Dean carried the turkey to the table and set it on the waiting hot pads at the head of the table, got the brand new carving knife and fork out of the drawer where they lived now, but looking at Cas and Sam’s eager faces he hesitated. 

 

“Here,” he said softly, handing both to Castiel and stepping aside. “You should do the honors, Cas. This is your home.” Sam nodded his agreement, that seemed right. Both Winchesters sat down and turned to watch Castiel expectantly as he stared at the implements of doom gripped in his hands, and then looked at their faces in alarm.

 

“I don’t know how to carve a turkey.”

 

Dean grinned. “Shave off three-eights inch slices parallel to the breast bone until you hit bone. Hack off the legs and the wings in one piece. I can cut up the rest if you need me to.”

 

Castiel nodded, relieved, and cut into the turkey as instructed, producing a perfect series of slices for each of them as they held out plates to receive them, and dropping a wing and a slice on his own plate. He stopped when no more plates were held out and they set about filling their plates with fixings, Dean hopping up as promised to produce piping hot rolls when their plates were filled.

 

“Do you want to say grace or anything Cas?” Sam asked uncertainly, holding himself politely at bay from his giant plateful of food, and Castiel hesitated, torn.

 

“I would like to bow our heads in a moment of silence for those we have lost, and then while we eat, I would like us to say one thing we are grateful for, if that’s all right,” Castiel decided.

 

“Of course,” the boys chorused softly, and immediately bowed their heads. When Dean lifted his head, his eyes stinging, he caught Sam’s red-eyed glance and nodded, kicking his foot gently under the table in solidarity.  Sam nodded back and took a deep breath as quietly as he could, while they waited for Castiel to look up.

 

When Castiel looked up his eyes were red but his expression was tender.

 

“Please, eat,” he murmured, clearing his throat.  “Sam, Dean, I am grateful that you are here. Dean, you called this my home, but it never felt like a home until you boys stepped through my front door.” Castiel looked embarrassed, stared down at his plate, picked up his silverware. “I’m sorry if that’s too much,” he muttered, addressing his potatoes. “I’m not terribly good at knowing when I’ve overstepped social mores.”

 

“You’re fine,” Dean assured him gently, “and we are very glad to be here with you Cas.”

 

Sam nodded, his mouth already full of  _ everything _ . “Damn straight,” he agreed, swallowing. “Thanks for having us, Cas. And I know what my gratitude thing is.” Sam grinned smugly at Dean. “I'm grateful for  _ you _ , Dean. When I was a kid I didn’t know any better, but I get it now. Other kids had moms that took care of them when they were sick, and cooked, and did the laundry and stuff, but  _ you _ did all that for me and Dad, Dean. You had to do all the Mom stuff.”

 

Sam waved his fork for emphasis while Dean stared at him, completely speechless. Castiel held his breath, eyes wide. 

 

“Then, when we lost Dad, you got a job and made the money to take care of us, but you  _ still _ did all the Mom stuff. I know I take you for granted most of the time Dean, but you take really good care of me, and I don’t think I’ve ever said thank you, not really. So... thank you.”

 

Sam shoved another ridiculously overladen forkful of food into his maw and grinned at Dean around it. Dean was still staring at Sam, his expression unreadable, but now a gentle smile played around his lips. Castiel felt like an intruder so he looked down at his plate, speared a small bite of turkey and popped it into his mouth, chewed slowly. It was absolutely delicious. He followed that with a bite of mashed potatoes with gravy, and had to shut his eyes to savor it, a tiny moan escaping his notice.  _ Jesus Christ  _ how much butter did Dean get into those potatoes, they were  _ absolutely decadent _ . He opened his eyes to find two Winchesters grinning at him in delight, Sam waving an empty fork in his direction now, swallowing so he could speak.

 

“See? Cooking is how Dean shows he cares, and now Dean takes care of you, too, Cas. Pretty fricking awesome, huh?  _ How lucky are we _ ?” Sam returned his attention to his plate while Castiel stared at Dean in astonishment and Dean flushed hotly in response. What had Dean said last night, something along the lines of “ _ you’re gonna have pie, I’ll see to that _ ,” wasn’t it? Castiel could see that Dean was embarrassed as Sam blithely chomped his way through turkey and fixings, and he wasn’t sure what to do. He flashed Dean a small apology smile, and tried gratitude.

 

“Sam's right,” Castiel said softly. “You take really good care of the people in your life Dean, and I don’t want to take you for granted either. Thank you. This means the world to me.”

 

Dean shrugged dismissively, split a roll in half, watched steam roll out of it. He spread butter thickly over both halves and watched the yellow grease melt into the fluffy folds. “You helped make everything, Cas, and you paid for the whole damn thing. It’s no big deal,” he muttered, taking a huge bite and sighing in pleasure as the flavors burst over his tongue.

 

Castiel split open his roll and buttered it about half as thickly as Dean had done, took a bite. He groaned happily and took another bite, bigger this time, while Dean watched him with satisfaction. 

 

“ _ It is to me _ ,” Castiel said finally, and Dean accepted defeat with a gracious nod. He couldn’t argue subjectives.

 

There was no sound for a long time besides the clink of silverware and steady chewing. Dean jumped up to get another round when his bottle ran dry, something dark and unfamiliar, and he opened them and handed them out before returning to his seat to sip and marvel. “Oh, man, this one’s  _ amazing, _ Cas. It’s like dessert in a bottle! Chocolate coffee porter is my new favorite.”

 

Sam sipped his and made a face, and Dean reached for it gladly, got up to get Sam another root beer instead.

 

“That’s fine, the adults will take care of it,” he teased, clinking bottles conspiratorially with Cas. 

 

“Whatever, sure, go ahead and dull your reflexes,” Sam shot back, “I’ll be happy to loot your corpses later.”

 

Dean snorted while Castiel hissed “ _ Bring it, whippersnapper _ ,” and there was general snickering in between muffled chewing for some time. Eventually, Castiel and Dean were beaten, leaning back to watch and marvel at the bottomless pit that was Sam, sighing contentedly as he crammed more perfectly roasted turkey in his facehole. Sam looked up from his third plateful and grinned, swallowed to grin at Dean and make an accusation.

 

“You didn’t say a grateful thing, Dean.”

 

“I’m grateful for pie.” Dean smirked at Sam, nonchalantly avoiding looking at Cas. Castiel’s requests had been so terribly modest in the grand scheme of things, and they hadn’t even been able to play the game he wanted, but the requirement of trotting out sentimentality on command made Dean’s skin crawl, and he was hoping his omission would go unnoticed. Trust Sam to be a dick and call him out.

 

“Something  _ real _ , Dean. Cas and I said real things.” Sam shoved more food in his mouth and chewed, grinning smugly and expectantly at Dean, while Dean glared at him.

 

“It’s not compulsory.” Castiel spoke quietly, but firmly. “Dean doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to do, not for me. Not ever.” 

 

Dean looked at Castiel then, gratitude on his face, and Castiel nodded at him and smiled gently.

 

_ Well, shit _ . Now that he was off the hook, no pressure to  _ dance monkey dance _ , his belly stuffed waaay past comfortably full, that warm feeling in his chest from Castiel smiling at him, he knew what he wanted to say.

 

“Actually, I do have a real thing.”

 

Sam made an exaggerated “Huzzah” face and Dean flipped him off, continued quietly, staring at his plate. “This year was really hard. Like, _really fucking hard_. Sam, you know most of it but not all of it, because I didn’t want to worry you. Finding a job out here was a _lot_ harder than I expected, and I really don’t know what I would have done to keep us going if I had lost it, which I almost did. I think we would have been screwed. Like, drive back to Sioux Falls with our tails tucked between our legs screwed.”

 

He looked at Sam, whose face had transitioned to more of an “ _ Oh Shit _ ,” expression, and nodded, his eyes wide with remembered terror. 

 

Castiel nodded sympathetically as he watched Dean’s face. He remembered the lie Dean had told Sam, the moment he had realized Dean was Sam’s father as well as brother. And just minutes ago, like a punch to the stomach, he had learned that Dean had also been Sam’s mother.  His eyes stung and he took a deep breath to compose himself as Dean turned to face him, looked him in the eye.

 

“You saved us, Cas.” Dean’s gaze was steady and bright, and Castiel met his eyes evenly, his face soft and fond. “You calmed me down and got me home safe that day, Cas, and then you taught me how to do the job with nothing to gain and everything to lose.”

 

Castiel’s eyebrows and shoulders made to rise in protest and Dean waved a hand impatiently.

 

“Don’t. Don’t say it was nothing or it’s not a big deal, Cas.  _ It is to me _ .”

 

Castiel fell still at Dean’s command, his face as impassive as he could make it, and waited to find out what Dean expected from him.

 

“So…  _ Thank you,  _ Cas. From the bottom of my heart. I am grateful for _ you. _ ”

 

_ Oh.  _ “You are very welcome, Dean.” Castiel replied gravely, his face almost... shy. 

 

They stared at each other, smiling gently, for maybe a few seconds too long before Sam cleared his throat.

 

“Thanks, Cas. I didn’t know it was that bad I guess. What did you mean ‘got me home safe,’ Dean?”

 

Dean and Castiel both turned to look at Sam, the spell broken. Castiel noticed Sam was on his  _ fourth  _ plateful just as Dean chided him, “Geez, Sam, save some room for pie!”

 

“Gonna take a little break and then demolish plenty of pie, don’t you worry about that,” Sam grinned. “And what did you mean ‘calm me down?’”

 

Dean shrugged. “I had a pretty bad panic attack at work. Cas found me and helped me out of it and then snuck me out the back door and drove me home and no one ever found out.”

 

Sam looked in turn worried, and then impressed, and then worried again. 

 

“Like after - “

 

“- Yes.” Dean’s answer was clipped; he didn’t want to talk about it.

 

“I didn’t know it was that bad,” Sam breathed, and Castiel answered for Dean, who was looking increasingly annoyed.

 

“That was the point, I imagine, Sam. The world is a hard place, and your brother protects you from it to the best of his ability. Sometimes circumstances make doing so more difficult, such as when you pry into how the magic is done. Perhaps it’s best not to ask how the sausage is made?”

 

He smiled at Sam as Sam looked appropriately ashamed and shot Dean an apology shrug. Dean accepted with a nod and Sam took a smallish bite, talked with his mouth full.

 

“I just meant, I didn’t get how bad it was so, like,  _ extra _ thank you Cas. Okay?”

 

“Okay, Sam.” Castiel beamed at Sam. “You’re barely a kid anymore, Sam. You can’t blame Dean for wanting you to cling to your innocence just a little longer.”

 

Sam snorted and rolled his eyes while Dean spit himself a little and then snickered. Castiel looked from one to the other of them in confusion until Dean shook his head ruefully, still snickering, and explained. 

 

“One room, Cas. Two dudes. Things you can never unsee, to be perfectly honest.”

 

Castiel’s eyes widened in horror and he blushed absolutely furiously, stared at his hands as Dean and then Sam watched him with unseemly delight, their smiles threatening to split their faces. When it didn’t seem like Castiel was going to recover, Dean took pity on him and got to his feet, collected his plate and Castiel’s, and headed into the kitchen to start cleaning up. For once Sam stepped up to help, and by the time they had the table cleared Castiel was able to join them, grinning sheepishly as he got out the saran wrap to help with putting the food away. 

 

Once all the food was in the refrigerator, to Dean’s astonishment, Sam actually banished the two of them into the living room to finish their beer and turn on the game while he did the dishes, so they did just that, rearranging just enough of Sam’s nest to sink into opposite ends of the couch with contented sighs, companionably pretending to watch a game neither of them had any interest in whatsoever.

 

 


	29. Three Men and a Lady

Sam had barely finished the dishes when the knock came at the door, and Castiel leapt to his feet with surprise on his face to open it. Anna stood on his doorstep, a wan smile on her lips, and she apologized before Castiel could even say hello.

 

“I know I’m early, I’m so sorry to intrude - “   
  


“Not at all, come in, come in,” Castiel assured her, smiling and stepping sideways to hold the door open so she step past him, relieving her of her laptop bag so she could shrug out of her coat, which he also took from her to hang up on one of the coat hooks by the front door.

 

“Anna, I’m so glad you could make it!”  Dean was all smiles as he crossed the kitchen to sweep Anna into a bearhug, spinning her to face Sam, currently wiping his hands on a dishtowel, so he could present her as a gift.

 

“Anna, this is my little brother, Sam. Sam, I booked you an ass-kicking, courtesy of my friend Anna, from work.”

 

Anna spluttered in protest as Sam’s face lit up, and he offered her his hand and a huge smile while she tilted backwards on her heels to stare up at him, a slowly spreading grin - a real one this time - creeping across her face.

 

“Anna, it’s a pleasure to meet you, and it will also be a pleasure to kick your ass,” Sam declared, shaking her hand solemnly. Anna’s eyes narrowed immediately. 

 

“You can TRY, you overgrown excuse for a Winchester. Why is he so BIG, Dean?”

 

Dean laughed as Sam beamed down at her, releasing her hand to actually stand up straight at his full height without slouching, for once, so she could harrumph and punch him lightly in the arm.

 

“The bigger they are, the harder they fall,” Anna declared, turning her back to Sam to throw her arms around a surprised Castiel and squeeze tight, and it was Sam’s turn to splutter in protest.

 

Anna wouldn’t let go, melting into Castiel’s arms and going a little limp as he wrapped his arms around her, and when it seemed like longer than average Castiel rubbed her back and bent his lips to her ear to whisper, “Are you alright?” 

 

Anna took a deep breath, blew that one out, took another that sounded a little shaky before letting go so she could look Castiel in the eye.

 

“Not really,” she murmured, looking around the room at three concerned men and visibly deciding this was a safe space. “My Mom invited my Uncle Joe without telling me he was coming, and when he started in on his ‘Godless Den of Iniquity’ diatribe about the city and the people that I love…” She shrugged angrily, wiping at her eyes with the back of her sleeve. “I couldn’t take it, Cas. I’ve told my Mom how I feel about bigotry at the dinner table and she made her choice. I yelled at him for being an asshole, burst into tears like a fucking baby, and I left.”

 

Castiel wrapped her in his arms again, pressing his lips to the top of her head while Sam and Dean stared, wide-eyed and helpless.  

 

“It’s not being a baby to care about other people,” Castiel murmured, while Sam and Dean nodded their solemn agreement.

 

“Love is love,” Dean chimed in softly. “Sam and I met a  _ lot _ of people traveling with our Dad, and that much was always clear. People don’t choose who they fall in love with.”

 

Sam nodded silent agreement, his face lost in the past. Anna looked from face to face to face, took a deep, calming breath, squared her shoulders. “Thanks, guys,” she sighed.

 

Castiel had a thought. “Did you get to eat dinner?”

 

Anna shook her head, scowling desultorily. “But you guys have pie, right?”

 

“Are you  _ kidding _ me?” Dean beamed at Anna, his delighted smile pulling an answering smile from her despite her sour mood.” We can do better than that, Anna, we have  _ everything _ . It’s still warm, we just barely put it away!”

 

Anna’s protests she didn’t want to be a bother were summarily ignored as three men fell over themselves to pull  _ everything _ out of the refrigerator and arrange it on the table, hand Anna a plate and a serving spoon and stand back, pleased with themselves.  It was a truly impressive spread and Anna laughed for real, loaded up her plate, relinquished it to Castiel to microwave it for a minute. Dean slapped Sam’s fingers away from the turkey as they covered the food again, Castiel chose a round this time to bring four beers to the table, and Dean brought out an apple pie and small plates so they could keep Anna company at the table.

 

Castiel leapt up to rummage in the giant cooler again, pulled his hand out, dripping, brandishing an iced can of spray whipped cream. “For the pumpkin pie,” he explained, grinning sheepishly, “but it can go on any pie of course...”

 

Dean laughed and fetched a pumpkin pie to the table as well, and they fell to it, Castiel and Dean both particularly smug at Sam’s pained groans he wasn’t reaaady.

 

Three men regaled Anna with increasingly taller tales of their gaming prowess, and by the time Anna was testing the pumpkin pie, moaning at how delicious it was, while Dean beamed with smug satisfaction, her mood was about a thousand percent lifted. 

 

“Alright, guys,” she sighed. “Who wants their ass kicked first? Wait, Cas, where’s your bathroom?”

 

Castiel smiled and led her to the bathroom off the living room, Dean trailing both of them to collect the half-full beer he still had left on the coffee table. He sucked it back - alcohol abuse was a travesty! - but as Anna emerged from the bathroom, her eye caught the scrabble box on Castiel’s credenza where they’d set it, and Dean watched in slow motion as her face lit up at the same time as Castiel’s face registered horrified panic, the two of them treating Dean to a slow-motion impression of classic tragedy and comedy masks.

 

Dean blinked, and time resumed normal speed as he smoothly stepped between Anna and the scrabble box, wrapped an arm around her shoulders to steer her towards the kitchen, murmuring gently “No Scrabble today, Anna, we tried, but it brought up too many painful memories for all of us,” as he pulled her away so Castiel could compose himself, her disappointment changing into understanding as she nodded and murmured back “I get it. I can’t play Monopoly anymore.” Dean laughed as he released Anna to her own recognizance in the kitchen, mock-glared at Sam, staring in desultory defeat at the half-piece of pumpkin pie remaining on his plate. 

 

“I’ve refused to play Monopoly with Sam since he was eight years old.”

 

Sam huffed, glaring back for real. ”YOU were the one who flipped the board, Dean.”

 

Dean laughed bitterly, as Anna and now Castiel, his face composed as he rejoined them in the kitchen, the Scrabble box safely back in his office, stared at Dean incredulously.

 

“Yeah, well, I had a run of bad dice rolls, and let’s just say I did not care for your compound interest rule.”

 

“Rock, paper, scissors winner  _ gets _ to add a house rule, Dean, that’s the deal - “

 

Sam and Dean both fell silent as Anna and Castiel’s grins grew impossible wide at their increasingly heated argument, and they agreed to a truce with a single shared glance.

 

“Want to show Anna what you’re made of?” Dean suggested, and Sam nodded eagerly, while Anna’s eyes narrowed into nearly invisible slivers.

 

“Bring it, Goliath,” she hissed, and Sam’s face split into a delighted grin as the four of them cleared the table, set up laptops, distributed ethernet cables and extension cords, and settled in to murder each other with absolutely furious concentration.

 

***

 

By the time Anna declared she really, really had to get going for really reals, no more ‘one more rounds’, she meant it this time, a staggering amount of pie had been devoured, and a really impressive number of beer bottles were empty on the table and counter and a few had even made it all the way to the recycling bin. Only Anna was sober enough to drive anyway, and she accepted bearhugs and parting trash talk and kisses on the cheek from all present, even Sam, who had been so delighted to find Anna very nearly unbeatable he hadn’t studied once all afternoon.

 

Anna waved when she hit the bottom step and three men waved back, not even embarrassed as they piled back into the kitchen to decide the remainder of their evening.

 

“We promised José and Felipe they could play games tomorrow,” Sam reminded Dean.

 

“Riiiight, but I’m in no shape to touch Baby, and neither are you.” Dean grinned at Castiel, who was silently awaiting their decision.

 

“Mind if we spend one more night, Cas?” 

 

Castiel’s face lit up, even though he tried to hide it. “Not at all, please do!” He let himself smile when the boys grinned at him, and whispered, “I wasn’t ready for it to be over.” 

 

“Us neither,” Dean assured him. Another round?”  He pointed towards their laptops, but Castiel was already selecting three more beers, and Sam laughed fondly and shook his head no thank you, sitting back down in front of his laptop to pull on his headset, while Dean accepted an ice-cold dripping bottle with a soft smile. 

 

“Thanks, Cas.” 

 

Castiel met his glance, his face soft and his eyes dancing.  “You’re very welcome. Now log back in, I’m not done murdering you.”

 

“ _ Hey! _ ”

 

“The numbers don’t lie, Dean.”

 

Dean spluttered while Sam snickered, shaking his head, and the three of them settled down to battle for supremacy on a new map, now that Anna had forfeited all further claims to the leaderboard.

 

 

 


	30. The Morning After

Dean’s phone alarm dragged him awake from definitely not enough sleep with a groan that definitely sounded like a whimper. 

 

_ Oh god. How much did I drink last night? _ Dean’s head was pounding and his mouth felt like he’d eaten an entire bag of cotton balls by himself, but he felt... content. Happy, even. The previous day’s dinner and gaming marathon kaleidoscoped through his fuzzy head as a parade of still images, a slow smile spreading across his face as he realized he wouldn’t trade a second of it.

 

Dean snagged a couple advils from Castiel’s nightstand, sheepishly side eying the little purple lube packets, but his head hurt too much and he was too embarrassed now anyway. He swallowed the pills dry, dragged fresh clothes on from the spares he’d had the foresight to pack, and dragged ass down the stairs, yawning, to join Sam and Castiel in the kitchen, studiously bent over one laptop at the kitchen table.

 

Castiel looked upset, but he glanced up at Dean and smiled, nodding his head towards the coffee pot, still half-full on the counter. Dean crossed to it without a word, adding half and half and sugar to his cup and stirring slowly as he strained to listen to what Sam and Cas were discussing.

 

“No, with an L,” Castiel corrected quietly, and Sam nodded and typed something, his brow furrowed in concentration.

 

Castiel felt Dean’s curiosity and he looked up, his face pained. “My birth name,” he sighed, his voice bitter. “I never thought I’d have to look at it again.”

 

Dean’s eyebrows creased, and Castiel stood up to refill his coffee, fussing with dairy and sugar and a spoon, his hands trembling a little as he gripped the cup. He turned to face Dean.

 

“I renamed myself the moment I was legally able to do so,” he explained quietly. “‘Novak’ means ‘New’.” Castiel’s eyes fell to his hands, wrapped around his coffee cup, and his shoulders hunched defensively. “I like it.”

 

“I like it too,” Dean answered, smiling encouragingly. 

 

Castiel met his eyes, nodded gratefully. He took a deep breath, and raised his voice just enough to carry across the hushed kitchen. “Sam, I can’t bear this. Can you… will you…”  he faltered, struggling to express himself, as two Winchesters stared at him in consternation. 

 

“I have a polaroid of my brothers in my office,” he managed. “If I give you that, will it be enough? Can you please just… not send me the notifications? I know it’s unfair to ask, but can you please just, not tell me, unless you’re sure?” His face blanched the more he thought about it, and Dean stepped closer to place a steadying hand on Castiel’s shoulder as he continued.

 

“I don’t think I can - no, I  _ know  _ I can’t handle getting my hopes up from a software search sending emails for every possible match - “ Castiel’s eyes misted and he took another deep breath, his hands shaking enough that he put the coffee down. 

 

“I don’t think I can do this,” he whispered. 

 

Dean threw his arms around Castiel without a second thought, and Castiel sagged into his shoulder, his arms hanging limply at his sides as he started to hyperventilate.

 

“Yes, you can,” Dean promised. “Breathe, Cas. You don’t have to do anything. Sam and I will handle it. We won’t say a word until we find him, okay? No matter how long it takes. Right Sam?”

 

Sam had been nodding mutely, his eyes wide, and he chimed in now. “We’ll take care of it, Cas. We’ll get a copy of your photo and get it back to you and we won’t say anything about it until we find him, okay?”

 

Castiel nodded into Dean’s shoulder, his breath hissing out in a long, controlled exhale, and then sucking back in slowly through his nose, for half as long.  Dean steadied Castiel through several rounds of breathing exercises until he lifted his head from Dean’s shoulder, then he released him and smiled at him encouragingly.  

 

“We got this, Cas. So. Do you want to keep the leftovers?”

 

Castiel’s eyes flared in horror and he laughed out loud. “You can’t be serious! I can’t eat all that!”

 

Dean smirked at him, his eyes dancing.  “I mean, you’re no Sam, but they broke the mold when they made Gigantor over there. You can eat  _ some _ of it, Cas.”

 

Castiel nodded solemnly. “I can eat  _ some _ of it,” he agreed.

 

They fell to divvying up the leftovers, Castiel insisting the boys take the lion’s share home, despite both of them protesting, until they gave up, letting Castiel have this small victory and piling turkey and fixings and pie into their old green Coleman cooler until she was full to bursting. Castiel loaded the remaining beer into the refrigerator, enough for at least the next several Fridays, and Dean helped him carry the practically coffin-sized cooler down the backyard steps so they could dump the ice water onto the gravel there, the water turning the stones black and the pile of ice sparkling and incongruous in the green of the backyard.

 

Castiel remembered to get Sam the polaroid. He walked the Winchesters to their car, his heart full, and they both hugged him goodbye, right there on the street, thanking him for the Holiday and the gaming and the leftovers and not saying a word about the software search, for which he was eternally grateful. He watched them drive away, smiling, and held it together until he made it inside before sinking into a kitchen chair and breaking down, curling into himself and sobbing ugly tears until he had none left, hiccuping and despairing in a downward spiral of speculation about how his life might have been different if he had opened that accursed Scrabble box twenty years ago. 

 

It was too hard, too much, so he crawled upstairs, swallowed two of the prescription anti-anxiety pills he hated because they basically rendered him catatonic, and went back to bed, forcing himself to think about gaming with Sam and Dean and Anna until the pills shut up his brain and sleep took him, soothing the years of pain from his face and buying him time until he could gather the strength to rise again and face it.

  
  


***

  
  


Sam and Dean were silent for several miles, brooding. Finally, Sam broke the silence.

 

“You think he’s okay?”

 

Dean shook his head solemnly. “No. Not even a little bit, but he doesn’t want us there watching him right now. He needs some time, Sam.”

 

“Yeah.” Sam let out a heavy sigh. “Can you even imagine?”

 

Dean met Sam’s eyes steadily for a long moment, even though they were on the highway, before turning his eyes back to the road.

 

“No. If Dad kicked you out, for any reason, I don’t care if it was because you killed someone. I would have gone with you.”

 

Sam was quiet for a long time, staring out his window. Dean pretended not to notice when Sam wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve, and he nonchalantly did the same.

 

“I love you, Jerk,” Sam finally whispered, his voice breaking.

 

“Right back atcha, Bitch,” Dean whispered back, his voice hoarse, then he brusquely pushed the Metallica bootleg hanging halfway out of the cassette deck all the way in, and turned it way up.

 

 

 

 


	31. Party Plans

“Are you guys bringing dates to the Christmas party?” Anna nearly had to shout to be heard over the background chatter in  _ Sugar Tonight _ . The place was hopping.   
  
Jesse grinned, and raised his voice to be heard over the the din. “Anything to get my man in a suit.”   
  
Anna grinned approvingly at Jesse, turning to the rest of the table. "Garth? Ash? ...Castiel?"   
  
Garth shrugged. "I'm working a few angles. We'll see," while Ash grinned ear to ear and nodded vigorously. "Hells yes I will, m'lady," Ash drawled theatrically, "a catered all-you-can eat buffet, mistletoe, eggnog, the ladies LOVE it."   
  
" _ DO _ they though?" Anna grinned at Ash, skepticism and fondness taking turns dancing over her face, then she turned to Castiel, whose entire attention  was currently engaged watching Dean line up a complicated shot, Dean's eyes casually raking the room to pause for a microsecond on Castiel's face and then circle back to his table, satisfied, to sink his shot flawlessly. It was a beautifully executed win, and Anna waited for Dean's eyes to flick to Castiel's face and away again, a pleased smile curving his lips, before asking Castiel again.   
  
"Cas?"   
  
He turned to her, lips curved in his own soft smile. "Yes, Anna?"   
  
"Will you be bringing a date to the Christmas party? Jesse and Ash will, and Garth has some best laid plans." Her face was fond, the explanation enough to clue Castiel in that she had to ask everyone or it would seem odd.   
  
He looked around at his friends, and sighed. "Christmas isn't... I actually hadn't intended to go..."   
  
There were disappointed noises, and then a deep baritone asking "Hadn't intended to go where, Cas?" as Dean appeared at Castiel's elbow, two dark beers in hand. He set one carefully down next to Castiel, pulled up his chair. Dean took a sip of beer as Castiel's hand wrapped around the new glass and he stared at the foam while everyone at the table stared at him expectantly.   
  
"To the Christmas company party," Castiel explained softly.  "Anna was asking if we all had dates." He passed the buck to Dean, raising his eyebrows in a question as he took a sip of foam.   
  
Dean looked around the table in confusion. "Are we supposed to bring a date?"   
  
"Not at all," Anna assured him, "we just  _ may _ . Ash, here, thinks the ladies  _ love _ it."   
  
Ash waggled his eyebrows suggestively at Dean, and Dean laughed and shook his head. "None of the other places I've worked had one. I've only seen company Christmas parties in the movies and on TV. I'm actually really excited to get to see one in real life. What's it like?"     
  
Castiel watched in bemused fondness as Garth and Ash fell over themselves to describe in glowing terms all the things he disliked about company parties.   
  
"A huge all-you-can eat buffet!"   
  
"We only get two drink tickets, then you gotta pay - "   
  
" - yeah they only did open bar one year but WHAT a year that was - "   
  
" - but it's decent stuff! Not just bud lite!"   
  
"HEY! Don't diss Bud lite!"   
  
"They give out awards, plaques or some shit but sometimes gift certificates by lottery"   
  
"Photo booth last year"   
  
"Secret Santa"   
  
"Mistletoe, huh, huh?" 

 

Ash was grinning ear to ear, his eyebrows really working it, and Castiel had to smile despite himself.  He hated it. All of it. The forced pleasantries, navigating courtesies with coworkers he barely knew, the rectangular metal catering trays with their mysterious contents, either too wet or too dry, choosing a gift for a stranger and having to open one and feign gratitude, the endless droning lauding of the sales team all-stars, people getting drunk and inappropriately familiar as their formal clothes loosened and wrinkled.  One year a drunk woman from accounting had tried to pull him into a kiss as he accidentally stepped into the invisible range of the plastic mistletoe, and Castiel shuddered in horror, remembering. He had barely managed to turn his cheek in time to keep her mouth from touching his.   
  
Watching Dean's eyes shine with delight and his face light up at everything Ash and Garth described, Castiel found himself wishing he could see the party through Dean's eyes, or at least watch Dean experience it. He didn't see a way to backtrack now that he'd said he wasn't going though, so he contented himself with watching Dean's anticipatory delight soften his features, his smile pure as a child opening a gift. Castiel sighed and took a long pull of the dark brew Dean had chosen for him, nutty and sweet.   
  
When he looked up, Dean was looking at him hopefully. "Please, Cas?"   
  
"I'm sorry?"   
  
"Please come to the Christmas party? I don't want to hang out with the sales team and they'll expect me to if you're not there." Dean grinned conspiratorially. "But we do a lot of meetings together so it'd be totally natural for me to slip away to say hey, and then if Anna insists I hang out - you'll insist, won't you Anna? - then I can hang out with  _ you _ guys."   
  
Dean grinned his best salesman grin, but this time the smile went all the way to the corners of his eyes as he looked around the table and wheedled. "If you'll have me? Pleaaase? I don't wanna have to be  _ on _ all night and salespeople never turn it off." Dean batted his eyelashes at Anna but turned to Castiel, who caught the tail end of it and found himself speechless.   
  
"Aren't  _ you _ a salespeople?" Ash asked, grinning, and Dean turned to him and grinned back. 

 

"Not on my own time, Ash. On nights and weekends, I'm actually Batman. Shhh don't tell."   
  
That got a pretty good laugh, and Dean smirked smugly as he turned back to Castiel, his eyes gently pleading. He leaned closer to Castiel and dropped his voice to a murmur.  _ "Please, Cas?  _ I won't go if you aren't going, I really don't want to hang out with the sales team.  Couple of the ladies have been dropping hints about mistletoe and I do  _ not _ want to see any of that Cougar action." Dean shuddered as Castiel's face split into a wide smile.    
  
"One of them caught me once."   
  
"No!" Dean's face shifted to exaggerated horror and he laughed, then had a thought and his face went to real horror. "Wait, how bad?  _ Tongue _ ?" He made a face as Castiel laughed.    
  
"I managed to turn my head sideways just in time, so I'm not sure. Certainly none of  _ my  _ tongue, but it was... very moist. I had to pry her off and go wash my face."   
  
"Oh god. Was it Karen?"   
  
"I didn't even know her name, Dean, but she got downsized."   
  
"Well, that's a relief, anyway." Dean grinned. "I'll protect you, Cas. Please come, I'm dying to see a real corporate Christmas party."   
  
"That's very kind of you Dean, but I'm sure I'll manage."   
  
Dean's eyes lit up with hope and gratitude. "You'll come, then?"   
  
Castiel nodded, smiling softly as Dean beamed at him, helpless to deny Dean this thing he wanted so desperately. If it made Dean happy, yes he would spend an evening pretending to enjoy himself in corporate purgatory.   
  
Dean turned to interrupt the conversation at the table in pleased success, his face hopeful. "Lady and Gentlemen, I have peer-pressured you a Castiel for the Christmas party, surely that is an acceptable bribe to be granted the honor of your company for the evening?    
  
There was general delight as well as protesting that Dean was already welcome, and he smiled, pleased, as Castiel slowly allowed himself to be glad. Yes, he hated every part of it, but Dean sounded like he was going to  _ love _ it and Castiel was suddenly certain he would enjoy the party this time. If Dean was there. He smiled at his friends as Dean checked the clock and drained his beer, leapt up, squeezed Castiel's shoulder briefly as he sloppily saluted his goodbye to the table at large.   
  
Castiel pretended not to watch him go. He did not see Anna watching him, or notice her soft smile as she turned away to chat with Jesse about his daughter. She was starting to talk, and Jesse was so in love Castiel was glad for him, even though he couldn't imagine what it must be like to feel such devotion. He listened in as best he could - the bar was getting louder as more patrons wandered in - and practiced feeling glad for his friend; ignored the tendrils of wistfulness that always twisted in his chest when other people described happiness he had no expectation of ever experiencing for himself.   
  
When he lost ground and started to feel the ache he could not escape or control, the one that sometimes came from seeing people holding hands, or leaning close to whisper secrets to one another as though they were the only ones in the universe, Castiel wished his friends goodnight. He stepped out into the night, the cool air and the stars a comfort as he gazed up at them, so far apart, yet so close together from where he was standing.    
  
He took a deep breath and blew it out softly, unlocked his Old Lady Lincoln to climb inside. Maybe he wasn't like other people, maybe he wouldn't get to have all the same experiences as others got, but he had friends he cared about and who cared about him, and that felt good.

  
If he was going to go to a Christmas party this year - celebrate the Holiday at all - maybe it wasn't out of the question to... maybe he could get Sam and Dean  _ gifts _ . Castiel contented himself for the remainder of his drive with wondering, with increasing excitement, what the Winchesters might like for Christmas.

 

 


	32. What if Gifts?

"What should we get Cas for Christmas?" Dean was washing his hands in the kitchen sink and the smell of the citrus pumice soap he was using to get every trace of Baby's grease out from under his fingernails permeated the whole apartment.  
  
Sam looked up from his laptop, almost lost on the kitchen table today between his stacks of papers and books, some of the papers flapping and held down with various and sundry heavy objects since he insisted on opening the window and door for ventilation when Dean used the orange soap. "Are you almost done?" Sam whined, sighing.   
  
"Yeah yeah, gotta have soft hands for sales, Sam. No one trusts a salesman with callouses or grease under their fingernails. Soft hands and even softer promises." Dean snickered and rinsed his hands, dried them on his jeans as he crossed to shut the window and kick the door shut for Sam.   
  
"There. Happy?" Sam rolled his eyes and Dean grinned. "Now seriously, what should we get Cas for Christmas?"   
  
"Aren't we doing Christmas with Uncle Bobby?" Sam sounded worried and Dean was quick to reassure him.   
  
"Don't worry, we're going to Uncle Bobby's for Christmas, you've got a decent break and we promised." Sam looked relieved as Dean continued. "But... we should get Cas something. If he doesn't do Thanksgiving what are the chances he does Christmas?" Sam's mouth fell open in horror as he thought about it and Dean nodded in agreement. "Exactly. So let's get him something."   
  
"Okay. What?"   
  
"That's what I asked _you_ ." Dean grinned as Sam rolled his eyes and flipped to a clean page in his notebook.   
  
"What do we know he likes?"   
  
They stared at each other for a moment.   
  
"Computer games."   
  
"Good beer"   
  
"He loves his horrible car."   
  
"He used to play Scrabble when he was a kid..."   
  
Sam looked up from writing their ideas down and they shared a horrified look, shook their heads in unison.

“Anything yet on that search?” Dean asked, but Sam shook his head desultorily and blew out a breath.

“Nothing. I keep checking if I set it up right, but I tried everything. We just have to wait.”

Dean nodded, and the two of them fell silent for a minute, pointedly not looking at each other.  
  
"He used to like poetry," Sam said quietly.     
  
"How do you know that? Did you snoop? What do you mean, used to?" Dean was dying of curiosity, but now Sam looked uncertain.   
  
"He told me the night before Thanksgiving, but maybe I wasn't meant to tell you. He said he stopped believing in beauty after the towers fell, Dean, and that he stopped reading poetry then." Sam looked worried as Dean's face fell. "Don't tell him I told you, okay Dean?"   
  
"I won't,  Sam, I promise.  That's just so... _sad_ ." Dean sighed, and ran a newly clean hand through his hair as he sank into the other kitchen chair. "Not gonna lie, that one kinda punches me in the gut."   
  
"He quoted something I forget after,  that kind of sounded like he might be starting to feel better..." Sam looked worried as hell but Dean's face lit up a little.   
  
"Okay that sounds promising, but he _does too_ still believe in beauty Sam, he has all those flowers and that garden." Dean's face lit up for real. "Let's get him a really nice one of those, one he doesn't have already."   
  
"Ooh, that's a really good idea." Sam's face went into study mode as he typed furiously into his laptop. He made several notes, then tore the sheet out and handed it to Dean. "Here are the numbers and addresses of the three nearest orchid nurseries, go make some calls. Or drive out and take a look, I _have_ to finish this paper today, Dean."

Dean grinned, studying the addresses. "Don't mind if I do. Baby could go for some exercise."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, me too, but I _have_ to get this turned in."

"Courtyard Basketball counts, Sammy."

"That's just cardio. I'll do some pushups later or something. Get out of here, wouldja?" Sam grinned and pulled on his headphones for emphasis, so Dean grabbed his jacket and the paper with the addresses and made his way out to Baby to check his map for the best way to hit all three.

 

***

 

By the time he pulled up to the third orchid nursery, Dean’s head was swimming with afterimages of flowers and details the eager old ladies in the shops had been happy to load him down with. The flowers all kind of looked the same to him and he found himself frustrated and a little out of sorts as he pulled up the gravel drive to the third place and parked in front of the fairly dilapidated looking greenhouse. The ancient wooden sign hanging over the door was almost unreadable, but Dean could make out enough letters to match his scribbled note of “Devereaux’s”.

 

The water-damaged placard hanging inside the door said OPEN, but no one appeared to be around as Dean pulled the door open and stepped into the warm humidity of the greenhouse, his feet crunching pleasantly on pea gravel as he did a slow 360, whistling through his teeth. This place wasn’t laid out like the others had been, with their rows and tables of flowers in standard pots with clearly marked prices and care tags. This place was a riot of color, with wildly colorful plants in all different bright colors of ceramic pots hanging from the ceiling and walls and in several dozen cases from each other. Dean could barely move for cascading plants in the way and he threaded his way carefully between them, trying desperately not to bump into anything while trying to read the labels, which were barely legible hand-scrawled copper tags with genus and species only;  no common names, no care instructions, no prices.

 

Dean ducked between two hanging orchids and accidentally brushed against one of them, setting it slightly swinging. He reached up to try to steady her just as the proprietor appeared, grizzled and scowling, to scold, “Don’t touch her!”

 

Dean lifted both hands in the air, startled, as the proprietor expertly wove through the hanging pots to steady the one Dean had brushed against, whispering soothingly to the orchid as he did so.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to touch her - “

 

“What do you want?” The man frowned up at Dean through bushy gray eyebrows, a spray bottle gripped in one hand, clippers in the other. Dean suppressed his instinct to back away out of fear he’d bump into another orchid, and he stared down in consternation at the scowling man in overalls.  On the one hand, he should just leave. On the other hand, the flowers here were gorgeous, much nicer and more striking colors than the pink and white combinations he’d just spent several hours being informed were the best available. He held out a hand placatingly.

 

“I’m looking for a gift for a friend.”

 

“Go to any grocery store in California,” the man scoffed. “I’m not sending one of my ladies home with some pretty boy so he can try to impress some dumb blonde and kill my orchid with neglect!”

 

“ _Frigging internet,_ ” he muttered, “ _never seen so many idiots_.”  The man crossed his arms and glared pointedly at the door. Dean’s mouth fell open in shock for a split second before he caught himself and tried one more time. This guy was a grade A dick, but Cas was worth it.

 

“Sir, I can’t do anything about the face god gave me, but I _can_ assure you your lady would have a wonderful, caring home. My friend Castiel has - I can’t say for sure - but he’s got to have at least a hundred orchids, and I wanted to get him something special for Christmas. Something rare maybe, that he doesn’t already have…” Dean trailed off, confused, as the proprietor’s entire demeanor changed, his arms uncrossing and his face eager.

 

“Castiel _Novak_?”

 

“Yes, sir.” Dean stared at the man in surprise as his face lit up with delight and he beckoned Dean to follow him through the maze of plants towards a door in the back of the greenhouse, chatting pleasantly over his shoulder.

 

“You should have _said_ , boy, Castiel is one of my best customers. It’s been a while since he came back from Afghanistan to pick up his girls though - I boarded them, you know, he paid for a whole new greenhouse just so I could - “

 

He disappeared through the back door to the greenhouse still talking and Dean ducked through to follow him, his eyes practically bugging out of his head to realize he was in another enormous greenhouse, not quite as big as the first but brand new, and a lot less crowded - only about half as densely packed as the first space.

 

“Of course this greenhouse is brighter because the new-fangled plastic siding is brand new, I keep having to cycle the varietals in and out of here if they get more sun than they want, but by and large I can’t complain…” The proprietor was almost muttering to himself now as he inspected a leaf on one of the orchids, trading his spray bottle and clippers out to manifest a bottle of hand sanitizer from somewhere on his person and squirting a little on his hands as he spoke. He offered some to Dean, who accepted solemnly, and they rubbed their hands in unison until the orchid man turned back to caress a leaf, frown at it, and snip it off with his clippers. He pocketed the leaf and the clippers, absently reapplying sanitizer as he led Dean to the back corner of this greenhouse.

 

“What did you say your name was, boy?”

 

“I didn’t, sir. My name is Dean Winchester.” Dean stared at the orchids in the corner. They were a fantastic riot of rich colors and patterns but his eye was drawn in particular to a dark purple one, the outer petals solid and almost black, the center petal mottled with even darker markings, and he stepped closer to her to marvel, his hands carefully at his sides, his eyes sparkling.

 

“You can call me Frank, kiddo, you don’t have to keep calling me sir.”  Frank glanced over to follow Dean’s gaze and shook his head. “You’ve got great taste Dean, but you can’t afford her. Brand new varietal, just came out this year, closest to true black we’ve gotten yet.”

 

Dean was riveted, barely able to tear his eyes away, but he finally managed to look at Frank curiously. “These don’t come in black?  This isn’t purple?”

 

Frank laughed at Dean’s ignorance, but kindly. “Castiel hasn’t taught you a thing, has he?” he grinned as Dean looked crestfallen.

 

“He has, sir, at work, but not about orchids. I haven’t had a chance to read all the labels yet, but my brother read a lot more of them than I did. Maybe he would have known…” Dean trailed off as Frank let out a low whistle.

 

“Castiel let you in his _garden_ ? You _and_ your brother?” Frank studied Dean’s face incredulously, and Dean shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other under the sudden scrutiny.

 

“Yes, sir.” Dean stared at Frank, waiting to see if he would elaborate, but he didn’t.

 

“Huh,” Frank murmured, and fell silent for a moment, considering.

 

“Alright, tell you what, I’ll split the ‘Kiwi Baron’ with you; half price and we can both sign the card, how about that?”

 

Dean shook his head reluctantly. “You’re very kind sir, and I appreciate the offer, but… I need this gift to be from me and Sam. I’ll pay whatever she costs.”

 

Frank snorted. “You’ve never been orchid shopping, have you, kid.” He mouthed the price silently and Dean’s mouth fell open in dismay. Frank nodded smugly, but as Dean’s face fell Frank’s face fell too. “Come to think of it, Castiel hasn’t been in here once since he picked up his ladies and he used to swing by every few weeks. Is he doing alright?”

 

“I think so, sir. But I didn’t know him before…” Dean trailed off helplessly, thinking about what Sam had said about Cas not believing in beauty anymore, and his eyes went misty for a second before he clamped it down, hard. “Every few weeks?” he whispered, agitated, and Frank nodded at him, eyes wide.

 

“Frank,” Frank muttered. “I told you to call me Frank.” He pondered for a long moment, his gaze somewhere in the middle distance, before coming back to focus on Dean, who was staring dejectedly at the flower he most certainly could _not_ afford and chewing his bottom lip absently, worrying about Cas giving up visiting this place he must have loved. Frank watched Dean’s face for a long moment, and then he cleared his throat.

 

“I paid a _lot_ of money for this orchid, Dean. I’ll sell her to you for my cost on two conditions.”

 

Dean looked up, his face not really daring to hope, but he was listening.

 

“First, you will give me your word she will go directly to Castiel’s garden, the exact day you pick her up. I need to know you will drive her from here to his house, without stopping anywhere, with your windows rolled up and no air conditioning.”

 

Dean nodded eagerly, he could do that.

 

“Second, Castiel must give me her first two divisions, whenever those may be.”

 

Dean’s eyebrows rose. “What does that mean?”

 

“It means, when she gets big enough to be split into two plants, he has to give me half of her. Twice. These suckers can’t be grown from seed, Dean, only divided. It could be years, but I insist. That is my condition.”  Frank’s eyebrows rose in challenge as chagrin worked its way across Dean’s face.

 

“Will… Will Castiel mind?” Dean finally asked, his face torn. Frank obviously cared about Cas, so he wouldn’t offer a Devil’s bargain, would he?

 

“Tough titties if he does - “ Frank grinned and his face softened at Dean’s expression. “No, Dean, he won’t mind. He has several orchids he already bought under similar conditions, although none so rare as this one, and none for more than one division. But I know she will do well with Castiel, almost as well as she would do here, and maybe he’ll come see me again soon to talk about her.” Frank sounded almost wistful, but he also sounded completely sincere. Dean found that he believed him.

 

“Deal,” Dean agreed, holding out his hand. They shook on it, and then Dean pulled out his wallet and riffled through the twenties. “I surely don’t have enough, can I give you what I have and bring the rest when I pick her up? Frank nodded, mouthing his cost, and Dean controlled his face perfectly as he emptied his wallet into Frank’s hand. Frank grinned anyway, shaking his head, so Dean went ahead and let the pain show as Frank’s grin grew wider.

 

“I feel you kid, believe me.” He glanced at his watch and his wince mirrored Dean’s. “I have to run, Dean, my wife gets snippy if I’m late to dinner with the family. Come back two weeks from today, exactly two hours before delivery to Castiel’s garden, you hear me? I’ll stay open until five.”

 

Dean nodded mutely, followed Frank as he expertly wove through the hanging baskets and let Dean out the front door to roar away in Baby, his wallet empty, his heart troubled, and his tires spinning gravel.

 

***

 

Once Castiel decided on a gift, he was at a loss as to how to surprise the boys in the remaining days before Christmas without tipping his hand. He agonized over it for days until he was saved by a text from Dean.

 

“ _Hey Cas, the Christmas party is next Fri & it’s the last Fri before Sam & I head out to Bobby’s. Can we do dinner Sat instead? _”

 

Well, that was beyond perfect, he could give them his gift then.

 

“ _Yes please. Do you have any specific dinner ideas?_ ”

 

“ _Shit, hadn’t thought about it, let me check with Sam.”_

 

“ _Unless you had something you wanted?_ ”

 

Castiel thought about the question carefully. He hadn’t done anything special for Christmas in a very long time, but of all the memories he had carefully suppressed, maybe the one that he most missed was baking with his mother. Sam and Dean certainly loved pie, maybe they’d be up for it?

 

“ _Can we make cookies? Or gingerbread men?_ ”

 

Castiel held his breath, somehow ridiculously nervous, until the answer came in.

 

“ _Of course we can! Sam’s gonna be SO EXCITED_ ”

 

The nerves dancing in Castiel’s stomach spread into warm anticipation, making his throat feel thick and his chest feel tight. He dithered for a minute and finally just kept his response simple and honest.

 

“ _Thank you Dean. This means a lot to me._ ”

 

He wasn’t sure if he was oversharing until the answer came in. He read it and smiled softly to himself before turning back to his keyboard to fight code.

 

“ _Me too. Srsly Sam’ll go nuts. I’m not going to tell him so you can see the look on his face when he finds out. Can’t wait._ ”

 

 

 


	33. The Company Christmas Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so in love with this chapter I wanted to publish it alone. It is, however, quite short, and we do need to move this story along, so instead I beg you for a favor. After you read the last line, sit with it for a moment before rushing headlong to the next.  
> Just a few seconds, that's all I ask, and for one brief, shimmering moment, feel what I felt. <3

The Christmas party was set to start at six, so pretty much everyone made an early afternoon of it to go home and change. Everyone except Castiel, who was already wearing an immaculately tailored black wool suit and charcoal gray silk tie, striking over the bright white dress shirt grazing the flat planes of his chest in crisp military lines.  He finished out his workday at his usual time in a virtual ghost town of empty cubicles, yawned, stretched, and stood up to absently adjust his tie, collect his suit coat from the hook and hanger behind him, and head out to his car, laptop bag slung over his shoulder. 

 

By the time Castiel found the Marriot his company had rented out it was just after six, and he strode into the festive ballroom, glittering with twinkling lights all in white and red, to maneuver through a sea of suits and little black dresses to search for his friends. A twenty foot Christmas tree towered along one wall, twinkling with white lights and covered in tinsel and red and white striped candy canes, and the tables had white linens and red poinsettia-and-candy-cane centerpieces, twinkling with their own smaller white lights that echoed the tree and garlands along the walls. Castiel grudgingly admitted to himself that it was quite lovely, but it wasn’t until he stepped past the tree and caught the scent - it was  _ real _ \- that a powerful wave of nostalgia twisted his stomach and burned his throat, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to go home. Castiel turned towards the door, his heart racing, but he’d been spotted and his friends were whooping and waving him over. He took a deep breath, plastered a smile on his face, and made his way to his team’s table. 

 

Anna was wearing shockingly red lipstick, a little red dress with white trim on it, and she had a delicate spray of mistletoe pinned behind one ear. She leapt up to throw her arms around Castiel and planted a loud kiss on his cheek, giggling and then accepting a clean napkin from Garth to hand to Castiel, an apology and a smirk somehow simultaneously contained in her smile. Castiel rolled his eyes as he wiped off her lipstick, smiling a little more sincerely around the table to see his friends dressed up and grinning at him. Jesse’s partner Cesar was, in fact, wearing a suit, and he looked both very uncomfortable and very handsome, parked next to Jesse who was similarly attired but looked perfectly at ease and quite smug. Garth did not have a date, but Ash  _ did _ , an attractive brunette at least a decade his elder, sipping what did not look to be her first glass of champagne. Castiel smiled pleasantly at her and nodded, and she winked at him and grinned; looked him up and down completely brazenly, her eyebrows rising in appreciation as she cooed “Who’s your  _ friend _ , Ash?”

 

Ash made the introductions without too much resentment, and Castiel smiled pleasantly, shaking Pamela’s hand as chastely as he could figure out how. Thankfully Anna had saved him a seat on the other side of her, because Pamela seemed like the kind of woman who would grab a knee under the table without a moment’s hesitation. Castiel put several feet of space between himself and Ash’s date as fast as was polite, sinking primly down into the seat his friends had saved for him with a quiet sigh of resignation. There was a flat rectangular gift above the place setting at the seat, and Castiel looked around in confusion at the innocent faces studiously eating appetizers and sipping beverages. “I didn’t put my name in for the Secret Santa,” he protested, “Are any of you missing a gift?” 

 

“Nope,” Anna assured him, as heads shook no around the table. “That was under the tree with the rest of them. Open it!”

 

Castiel examined it carefully to see if there was some mistake, but it definitely said “To Castiel, From Santa” on it, so he untied the silver ribbon and carefully picked open the tape on the red foil wrapping paper, curious as to who might have given him a gift. The plain white box inside had another tag taped to it, and the two words scrawled across it - 

 

“ _ For Daddy _ ” 

 

\-  made him choke back a real laugh and then pocket the tag surreptitiously before lifting the lid to reveal a bright blue silk tie, somewhere between lapis and sky blue.

 

“Oooh,” Anna exclaimed, “That’s gonna look reaaal pretty on you, Cas. Go put it onnnnnn.”

 

Castiel wondered how much wine Anna had already managed to knock back. He tried to pocket the tie without doing her bidding, but she wouldn’t be dissuaded and he finally rolled his eyes and did it right there at the table, removing the dark gray tie he had on, carefully rolling it up into his breast pocket, and tying on the new one by practiced muscle memory. He adjusted his windsor knot, disgruntled, and replaced his tie pin carefully.

 

“There. Happy?” Castiel scowled at Anna, irritated to be treated like a doll, but Anna’s eyes were sparkling and she really did look happy as she beamed up at him.

 

“Cas you look so prettttty, that color makes your eyes practically glowww,” she gushed, and Castiel softened under her praise. He sighed, mollified, and looked up just in time to see Dean strolling over to admire his handiwork, breathtaking in a dark charcoal suit Castiel had never seen before, possibly because it fit him more like a glove. Castiel shut his eyes, an afterimage of Dean’s perfect form silhouetted in the glow of a thousand twinkling lights burning itself into a dozen of his permanent folders as he fought to keep his face neutral.  He opened his eyes again - just a single, slightly longer than normal blink, nothing out of the ordinary - to grin up at Dean, shaking his head and keeping his eyes  _ firmly _ fixed on Dean’s face, while Dean casually looked Castiel up and down and smugly chimed in to agree with Anna.

 

“She’s right Cas, that color suits you.”  Dean winked at Castiel and made his pleasantries around the table, his very real delight in seeing everyone and theirs in seeing him a welcome distraction for Castiel as he tried to ignore the warmth pooling in his chest at Dean’s compliment, simultaneously enjoying Ash’s jealousy and feeling vaguely annoyed at Ash’s date for the way she was now leering at Dean.  To Ash’s visible and Castiel’s secret relief, Dean shook Pamela’s hand just as chastely as Castiel had, extricating himself politely to make his way over to Anna. He accepted a hug and a lipstick print from Anna, the requisite napkin from Garth; smoothly liberated a chair from a neighboring table to park himself between Castiel and Anna. Castiel scooted his chair over to make room and the motion dominoed around the table until the spacing was even, Dean seamlessly absorbed into their midst.

 

Dinner was announced and Castiel trailed his way out beside Dean to select from the least objectionable foodstuffs while quietly enjoying Dean’s enthusiasm at loading his plate with  _ everything.  _ Dean set his plate at the table, disappeared for a moment to reappear with a pair of pale domestic beers and an apology smile for Castiel, who accepted the gift with a wince and a rueful smile as everyone fell to devouring their buffet food.  

 

Castiel found himself unable to pay attention to the conversation at the table, although he really did try. The soft Christmas music, the murmur of conversation, and the clatter of cutlery around him fell away into the background as he sipped his beer and picked at his food and watched the twinkling lights of the poinsettia centerpiece dance in Dean’s eyes. Dean teased Anna and argued good-naturedly with Ash and Garth and asked after Jesse and Cesar’s daughter and  _ really listened  _ to their enthusiastic answers, and through all of it Castiel didn’t hear a word. He just watched Dean’s face and listened to the rumble of his voice, his lips curved into a fond smile and his eyes glowing softly above the tie that somehow matched their hue perfectly in the glimmer of a thousand twinkling lights.  

 

When Dean’s name was called over the microphone it startled all of them, and when Zachariah lauded Dean’s accomplishments as Dean stood shellshocked in front of the entire company, handed him a plaque and a white envelope as he stood uncertainly on the corner dais in front of the glittering Christmas tree, it was Castiel’s face he searched out to see if it was okay to be pleased; Castiel’s beaming smile of approval that finally let Dean relax and accept the accolades, beaming his best salesman smile for everyone, laugh lines of real joy creasing the corners of his eyes. 

 

Dean smoothly made his way over to the sales team to shake hands with his colleagues and accept congratulations, soothing ruffled feathers and bruised egos in his wake with the natural charm that somehow came to him as easily as breathing. When he finally made it back to his cold plate at the software team's table to sink into his seat, handing Castiel his plaque so he could examine the envelope, everyone was  _ dying  _ to know what was inside.

 

“Are they doing  _ bonuses  _ again?” Garth breathed, and Dean shrugged.

 

“Did they ever?” he asked, casually wiping his knife on the hanging edge of the tablecloth before slitting the envelope open.

 

“ _ Yes,”  _ five voices assured him in unison, and he laughed and peered inside theatrically. His face went completely blank for several seconds as everyone held their breath, and then he tucked the envelope into his suit coat’s inside breast pocket, eyes wide.

 

“I think they’re doing bonuses again,” he finally allowed, smiling shyly as the table whooped their congratulations and in a few cases pestered him for a ballpark figure. Dean didn’t want to say, tracing the engraved lines of his name in the plaque Castiel had quietly handed him back with his index finger, but when Castiel raised a warning eyebrow at Ash, Dean held up a hand.

 

“Let’s just say my brother will be getting a  _ much _ nicer Christmas present than we both expected.”

 

That got a chorus of “Awwws” and no one pressed Dean any further. Only Castiel recognized Dean’s quiet relief at no longer being pressed, and his carefully concealed shock. The bonus must have been  _ quite  _ generous, but Castiel assured himself that Dean didn’t have time to cash the check and get Sam the same thing he’d gotten the Winchesters, and even if he somehow managed it before tomorrow evening it would be in plenty of time for Dean to return it and choose something else. Castiel beamed at Dean, whispered “Congratulations,” only for Dean’s face to fall abruptly, for Dean to reach into his pocket for his phone, flip it open, type something, then bite his lip while poking at his cold food with his fork, avoiding Castiel’s eye for the first time all night.

 

Castiel watched Dean surreptitiously, puzzled, until his phone vibrated in his pocket, then he fished it out and read the text under the table.

 

“ _ I just realized I should split this with you. Can I pay you back after Christmas? I want to get Sam a faster laptop. _ ”

 

Castiel shook his head at his phone, thumb typed his reply as fast as he could.

 

“ _ My stock options are worth more because of you. Get Sam his laptop. You earned that bonus. _ ”

 

Castiel watched Dean’s face carefully as his reply buzzed in, watched his shoulders relax and the slight furrows on his forehead smooth away; watched a smile tease around the corners of his lips even though he still didn’t make eye contact. Satisfied, Castiel dragged his chair out from the table, stood up and stretched, stifling a yawn, to make his way over to the bar to ask if they had anything stronger than beer. They did. He ordered two double bourbons, chose to make the return journey via the perimeter of the room rather than risk being jostled. To Castiel’s horror he found himself almost immediately ambushed by a pair of giggling women in velvet and heels, clamoring for their droit de mistletoe; from the flush on their faces definitely full sails to the wind. 

 

Castiel’s hands were full. There was no polite defense or escape, and his spine stiffened with near panic as he shut his eyes and waited helplessly for it to be over, only for Dean to appear at his elbow, swoop in to “steal” the kisses, plant a loud smack on each of the women’s cheeks and tell them how great they looked tonight. Dean left them blushing and dazzled as he smoothly returned to Castiel’s side, gently extracted a glass from his unresisting hand, took a sip, and unobtrusively steered Castiel towards their table with a hand on his elbow until Castiel had the wherewithal to move on his own.

 

“Told you I’d save you,” Dean murmured as they sat down, and Castiel wondered suddenly, as the bourbon he gulped burned its way to his stomach, soothing his frazzled nerves on the way down, if Dean had any idea how much he already had.

 

 


	34. Cookies at Castiel’s

Late Saturday morning, Dean realized he’d made a tactical error.

 

“ _ Shit _ . I’m sorry Sam, you have to ride out with me to the orchid place.”

  
Sam glanced up from his laptop. “What? Why _? _ ”

 

“I promised the guy I’d go directly from the orchid place to Castiel’s house with the windows rolled up and without stopping anywhere. He wouldn’t sell it to me otherwise.” Dean shrugged. “I didn’t think about how that would mean not being able to pick you up on the way back until just now. You’re on break, what are you even studying?”

 

Sam sighed. “I’m starting some of the reading for next semester’s classes. Sarah let me borrow a couple books she doesn't need over break. Just trying to get a head start.”

 

“ _ Jesus _ , you’re a nerd.” Dean’s tone was playful, and his smile was unabashedly proud. Sam grinned back at him and glanced at the wall clock over Dean’s head. 

 

“What time we gotta head out there?”

 

Dean looked apologetic. “Now. I’m sorry, man, it’s an hour something out from here and a solid two hours from there to Cas’s place.” He grinned. “Pack a snack and take a piss now, because once we hit that greenhouse, we’re not stopping until Cas’s.”

 

Sam groaned theatrically, but he unfolded himself obediently from his chair to disappear into the bathroom momentarily and then reappear to pack up his laptop. Dean watched Sam shove his computer into his backpack burning with secret joy that he’d wired Bobby their new laptop budget for Sam  _ this very morning _ , the knowledge that Bobby was on the case, possibly replacing the loud clunker Sam was even now throwing over his shoulder making him giddy.

 

“What’s gotten into you?” Sam asked, grinning, and Dean covered smoothly.

 

“Cas is gonna  _ die _ when he sees her Sam.” Dean smiled fondly, imagining it.  Would he be shocked? Would he smile? He wondered, suddenly, if he was being presumptuous, and his delight slipped away, replaced by uneasy doubt.  _ Shit. _

 

“He  _ will _ like it, won’t he Sam?”

 

Sam looked up, took in Dean’s state of mind at a glance. “He’s going to love it, Dean,” he answered firmly, his certainty easing Dean’s sudden fear.

 

“Okay,” Dean sighed. “Okay. Let’s go get her.”

 

***

 

An hour and change later Dean was loading a startlingly beautiful plant into his back seat under Frank Devereaux’s watchful eye, a clean garbage bag spread out on the seat and Sam tearing his eyes away from his laptop in the front seat to whistle through his teeth as Dean carefully set her down.

 

“Damn right,” Frank agreed, and Dean grinned at him, shook his hand in parting.

 

“We’re going directly from here, windows up, no stops,” Dean promised, and Frank nodded solemnly. 

 

“A man is only as good as his word, Dean. I believed you the first time or she would  _ not _ be in your possession right now.” Frank grinned to soften the blow, met Dean’s eyes. “Give him my best,” he muttered, and Dean nodded.

 

“I will. Thank you Frank.”

 

“Get out of here,” Frank growled, disappearing back into his greenhouse. Dean settled into his seat rolling first his eyes, and then his window crank. He switched the fan resolutely off, shared a look of  _ yikes  _ with Sam, and they were off.

 

The first hour wasn’t too bad temperature-wise, although Sam’s silent-but-deadlies lost their novelty - although  _ definitely _ not their potency - after the first five minutes. Around the midpoint of their adventure the sun came out from behind a few lingering clouds, and despite the cool day hovering somewhere in the low fifties, the temperature in the car started to climb. Thirty minutes out Sam’s laptop was shut for fear of sweat drips, twenty minutes out they were counting every excruciating mile, and by the time Dean pulled into Castiel’s driveway so they could throw their doors open and fall out, gasping, into the cool air, it must have been a hundred degrees inside the cabin.

 

Castiel appeared at his front door, alerted to their arrival by the unmistakable sound of Baby pulling up. He took in the Winchesters soaked in sweat and wheezing at a glance, and flew down his front stairs to see if he could lend assistance, only to reel back, horrified, as Sam belatedly waved at him to stay back.

 

“ _ Jesus _ what is that  _ smell _ ?” he groaned, desperately backpedaling as Dean managed to wheeze his way around to the passenger side and glare at Sam, giggling where he lay collapsed on the pavement.

 

“It’s a journey to the center of Sam’s colon, that’s what,” Dean accused, poking at Sam with the toe of his boot. “I can’t believe you did that to us, Sam, you’re  _ disgusting _ .”

 

“You’re the one who made the deal with the Devil,” Sam retorted, sitting up, leaving a dark gray sweat angel on the concrete where he had been collapsed just seconds before.  “You should have asked if you could just put the orchid in a plastic bag, that would have been  _ way _ easier…”

 

Sam trailed off as Dean looked crestfallen and Castiel looked surprised and then keenly interested, whispered “ _ Oh Shit! Sorry Dean. _ ”

 

Dean rallied, wiping his forehead with a damp henley sleeve and running a hand through his dripping hair. “It’s okay,” he sighed. “She’s from both of us and we  _ definitely _ both suffered to get her here.” He smiled shyly at Castiel, pulling open Baby’s back door while Sam scrambled to his feet.

 

Castiel’s mouth fell open, his eyes enormous, as he stared into the dim interior of the car.

 

“ _ Is that -  _ “  he fell silent as Dean reached inside, carefully lifted her out, and held her out towards Castiel. The Winchesters watched, riveted, as Castiel reached out with trembling hands to touch her, hesitated. “ _ I should wash my hands _ ,” he whispered, turning in a daze to climb his stairs and disappear through his front door. Sam and Dean shared a look but they had no idea if they should follow so they just waited until Castiel reappeared, still in a daze, standing uncertainly on his front step.

 

“Can you... Please, can you bring her up?” he called down softly. “I, uh - “ he held his hands up in a helpless gesture and Dean could see them still trembling, nodded up at Castiel and shot a pleading glance at Sam to stay with the car for a second. Sam nodded his assent and leaned against Baby as Dean carried the flower up the stairs as if she were made of crystal, brushed past Castiel where he stood holding the door as wide open as he could, set her down on the kitchen table where Castiel indicated.

 

They stared at her together, her sprays of dark blooms utterly breathtaking in the shades of dark purple the orchid man had called black without a hint of irony; her long strappy leaves gracefully curving out from the bright green pot like giant blades of grass. Dean held his breath as Castiel reached out to touch her, petting first a leaf, the softest of hello caresses, then reaching out to trace the edge of a mottled lip, his motion so gentle Dean couldn’t be sure if he’d actually touched her at all.

 

“I didn’t know they’d gotten so close,” Castiel breathed, “although I suppose I haven’t kept myself in the loop lately. She’s  _ gorgeous. _ ” He turned to Dean, panic crossing his face. “Wait,  _ how did you afford her? Dean, that bonus was for Sam’s laptop! -  _ “ He got no further, Dean’s hand instinctively reaching out to touch Castiel's immediately drawing both their attention until Dean self-consciously removed it, his fingers still tingling where they had touched Castiel’s skin. 

 

“I didn’t spend the bonus on it Cas,” Dean promised, his voice soothing. “Your friend Frank - who sends his best, by the way - he gave me a deal, once he knew it was for you. On conditions.” He grinned, and Castiel grinned back, relieved.

 

“What  _ kind  _ of conditions, Dean?”

 

“Well, first that I ride in a hotbox of Sam’s ass stench for two SOLID hours,” Dean griped, and Cas snorted.

 

“A large leaf bag would have worked just as well, Dean. I think Frank might have been screwing with you. Or testing you. Or both,” Castiel mused, his eyes twinkling. “And the other conditions?”

 

“The first two divisions. Whenever they may come.” Dean’s forehead creased with concern as he waited to see what Castiel would say, but Castiel just shrugged.

 

“Two is unusual, but I can see why. She’s exquisite. Truly.” He tore his glance away from the orchid to meet Dean’s eyes, his face soft and his eyes sparkling. “Thank you Dean.”

 

Dean stared back, suddenly bashful. He fidgeted and flushed and finally broke eye contact, returning his gaze to the cascade of blossoms and murmuring “She’s from Sam, too.”

 

“Of course,” Castiel agreed easily. “Shall we go get him?” Dean nodded, and they traipsed down the front steps to invite Sam inside and lock up Baby, respectively. 

 

The boys looked so uncomfortable when they got inside Castiel held up a wordless finger, disappeared upstairs, and reappeared within moments with a stack of towels and various clothing under one arm, soap and shampoo under the other. He dumped them on the kitchen table on the other end from the orchid and waved a hand at the pile.

 

“Here, anything from a wipedown to a shower with clothes that might do, take your pick.” He grinned at the boys currently congealing to damp sogginess, and added “Because, much as I appreciate the gift, you two are disgusting.”

 

Sam snorted as Dean laughed out loud and nodded rueful agreement. “Yeah we are,” Dean agreed, coming over to poke at the pile. He selected a washcloth and soap and an old tee shirt and disappeared into the downstairs bathroom while Sam, at least twice as sweaty as Dean had been, woefully picked at the pile. 

 

“I‘ll stretch out anything I wear,” he fussed, but Castiel shook his head.

 

“You won’t stretch the sweatpants. How about this, go shower upstairs in my bathroom and I’ll launder what you have on, alright?”

 

“You don’t mind?” Sam was uncertainly gripping a towel and the sweatpants, his face hopeful but torn.

 

“Of course I don’t mind, Sam, if I minded I wouldn’t offer. Trust me, I never make offers I mind following through on.”  Castiel grinned and Sam grinned back, shaking his head. Droplets of sweat flew off sideways from the upturned curls at the bottom of his sopping wet mop of hair as he did so, and Castiel barely suppressed a wince.

 

“Go.  _ Please, _ ” he begged, and Sam laughed out loud.

 

“You’re welcome,” he quipped over his shoulder, disappearing up the stairs to clean up.

 

Twenty minutes later when Sam wandered into the kitchen, clad in high-water gray sweatpants with a wad of laundry tucked under his bare arm, Christmas carols were playing at low volume on Castiel’s stereo and he found Castiel and Dean setting up a baking assembly operation on the counter, a beautiful chaos of flour and spices and butter and bowls and cookie sheets and - 

 

“-  _ Are those gingerbread men cookie cutters? _ ” Sam breathed in delight.

 

“Yup.” Dean and Castiel both turned to grin at Sam, pleased with themselves.

 

“Surprise!” Dean beamed, completely smug at Sam’s excitement.  “Now get out of here, I’ll bring you any beaters that need licking, deal?”

 

Sam very nearly squealed with happiness, but he managed to nod demurely and collect his backpack without leaking any noise, backing slowly away into the living room on his tiptoes, peeking into the bowls and trying to discern from context how long it might take for such a beater to manifest.

 

“Ten minutes,” Dean answered, laughing, “Now  _ git _ .”

 

“Drop your laundry on Dean’s shirt on the floor there, Sam, and I’ll get it in a minute,” Castiel instructed, turning back to hand Dean the butter he was reaching for.

 

Within ten minutes Sam was contentedly licking gingerbread beaters while Dean rolled out the dough and Castiel painstakingly cut out perfect people, lining them up in military rows on the cookie sheet. Within twenty minutes the people were all made plus one rude handmade shape Dean crushed the remainder of the dough into, and Dean started on the sugar cookies while Castiel started a load of laundry. Within thirty minutes Sam was stealing naked gingerbread people from cooling racks while Dean slapped at his hands chiding him they weren’t  _ done _ yet. Dean banished Sam back to the living room with sugar cookie beaters and the bowl to lick as a distraction, rolling out soft white dough with his gleaming rolling pin and leaving Castiel to try out his brand new cookie cutters; stars and candy canes and Christmas trees and angels joining the gingerbread men on the cooling racks before too awful long.

 

An hour in there were snickerdoodles in the oven and Sam was licking his third set of beaters, breathing in the baking aromas tugging him into the kitchen like a cartoon smoke tendril complete with hands and whining that he didn’t care if there was frosting yet  _ pleaaaaase could he have some coooookies _ . Dean imperiously denied him, decreeing it would be worth the wait, and repossessed the beaters for the third time to make icing. Castiel hauled out a fortune’s worth of sprinkles and candies and little silver balls and basically one of everything they had in the baking section and quite a lot from the candy section as well, carefully arranging the contents of two large brown paper bags into a cityscape on the kitchen table and beaming with pride as Dean’s eyes widened in disbelief at the array. 

 

“ _ Holy Shit _ . Sam, you gotta see this!”

 

Sam appeared within milliseconds, to gape as wide as Dean had. 

 

“Okay, I think you both better decorate,” Dean decided. “Cas, can you find a new home for the orchid?”

 

Castiel nodded, moved her ever-so-carefully to an end table in the living room, and returned to wipe down the table and wash his hands while Dean lined up all the candy and baking notions in a strip down the center of the table and laid out two long sheets of aluminum foil down the kitchen table on either side of the decorations.

 

For the next hour or so Dean laid out cooled sugar cookies and then gingerbread men, icing them as he went, with Castiel working his way down one side of the table and Sam on the other, decorating and giggling like children and bickering companionably about Sam eating cookies and candy as fast as the three of them could decorate. The table was still covered end to end in cookies by the time Sam was groaning in pain on the couch, and Dean and Castiel repaired to the counter to unwrap and press Hershey’s kisses into hot peanut butter cookies as fast as they came out of the oven, sagging with relief when the last cookies came out and pressing chocolate into them with increasing speed and decreasing precision until their eyes met in a battle over the last cookie, each of them fighting to unwrap and press their kiss into it first.

 

They dove for the cookie with laughter and a shout but it was a tie, and their hands met in a battle to press their chocolate down the most convincingly, melting chocolate squeezing up between their fingers. Castiel cheated by grabbing the entire mess and shoving it into his mouth, beaming at Dean in victory before chewing exaggeratedly, and Dean laughed as he stuck a finger in his mouth to suck the chocolate from it. 

 

Castiel’s eyes fell to Dean’s mouth for a split second before his smile froze and he abruptly turned away to busy himself in the refrigerator, leaving Dean’s forehead a little furrowed as he desultorily reached for a consolation cookie of his own, since Cas was done playing.

 

“Beer, or milk?” Castiel asked, rummaging in the fridge, and Dean perked up immediately.

 

“Beer! No, wait, milk,  _ then _ beer!” Dean declared, and Cas grinned at him over the door of the refrigerator.

 

“Whole, or two percent?” he asked, and Dean shook his head incredulously. 

 

“Did you get both?” 

 

“Yes...” Castiel looked bashful, and shrugged self-consciously. “I wasn’t sure which you would prefer.”

 

“Cas, we’ll drink whatever you have on hand, seriously. But whole, since you’ve got it.” Dean grinned at Castiel as he pulled out the gallon and got three glasses out of the cabinet, carefully filled each of them to exactly one inch below the rim, and put the milk away. Castiel got out a plate and carefully arranged an assortment of cookies on it while Dean watched in rapt silence. He picked up one glass and the plate and glanced at Dean.

 

“Dean, could you…”

 

Dean leapt to grab the other two glasses and trailed after Castiel into the living room, where Castiel set the plate down in front of his regular spot, beside Sam’s laptop, and sank down into the couch next to Sam with a sigh.  Dean shimmied in between Castiel’s knees and the coffee table, held a glass precariously over Sam and stared at him pointedly until he huffed and moved down to the far end of the couch, whereupon Dean handed Sam his milk and lowered his ass victoriously into the middle of the couch, sipping his own milk as he settled in.

 

“You already ate your weight in cookies, Sam,” Dean justified, reaching for a gingerbread man from in front of Castiel and dunking a leg into his milk before chomping it off with satisfaction.

 

“Not the chocolate ones,” Sam argued, reaching past Dean to grab a couple of those. Dean pretended to slap at his hand and Sam pretended to punch him in the kidneys and Castiel took a deep breath and didn’t have to say a word to render both boys meek as church mice, nibbling innocently on their cookies and suppressing smiles.

 

Castiel produced the dick Dean had crafted and iced and Sam had lovingly decorated with pink sprinkles from where he’d been palming it and slipped it casually into Dean’s milk, and all bets were off; Dean‘s protests all but drowned out by Sam laughing so hard he had to set his milk down.

 

Dean stared in exaggerated dismay into his glass, scowling theatrically. “There are pink sprinkles floating in my milk now.” He lifted his glare to Castiel’s smug smile, shook his head. “I’m not eating a dick.”

 

“You just ate an entire gingerbread man, Dean. This is just a different scale of gingerbread dick.” Castiel stared at Dean evenly, his eyes twinkling, while Sam giggled. 

 

“He’s got you there, Dean.”

 

Castiel’s eyebrow rose, an invitation to argue, but Dean had nothing and he knew it. He gripped the dick by the dry balls, lifted it, dripping, from his milk. He watched the milk run off the end in a drizzle, the odd pink sprinkle melting free here and there to drop into the milk with little splashes. When it had slowed to intermittent drips he tilted his head sideways, smoothly moved the end over his mouth between drips, and lowered it between his lips in exaggerated slow-motion, to a noise of disgust from Sam and no sound at all from Castiel, before savagely biting it in half and chewing with satisfaction as two men cringed with sounds of horror on either side of him.

 

“The dick sprinkles are good dipped in milk,” Dean observed, devouring the rest of the gingerbread dick and reaching for a sugar angel also decorated in pink sprinkles. It was the only pink sprinkled cookie on the plate, and Sam huffed in disappointment and hauled himself off the couch to go in search of more.

 

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel murmured quietly. He snapped a snickerdoodle in half in his long fingers and absently pressed the halves back together so the break was invisible, studiously not meeting Dean’s eyes.

 

“For what?” Dean was surprised, turning to look at Castiel with the question on his face.

 

“For today. All of this. Thank you.” When Castiel’s eyes finally met Dean’s they were glistening, and Dean gently leaned towards him to press their shoulders together. Castiel didn’t lean away.

 

“Cas,  _ this was awesome _ . Okay? Thank  _ you _ for having us.”  Dean stared at Castiel earnestly, his eyebrows raised, until Castiel nodded, blinking rapidly, and then he leaned away so Cas wouldn’t have to and reached for another chocolate kiss cookie, popped it in his mouth whole, while Sam reappeared with a giant fistful of pink sprinkled sugar cookies and a freshly filled glass of milk to shake the entire couch as he flopped back down. Castiel shook his head fondly and took a single bite of snickerdoodle, sighed in pleasure as he chewed slowly and turned to look at the Winchesters.

 

“So. Do you boys want to open your gift before or after dinner?”

 

The look of pain on Sam’s face at the mention of dinner brought both Dean and Castiel immense satisfaction, Dean’s guffaw and Castiel’s snort drawing their eyes to one another to grin at each other in delight.

 

“Yeah, sure, gang up on me,” Sam huffed, setting a couple cookies down next to his laptop instead of in his mouth. “What’s for dinner?”

 

Castiel laughed out loud at that, answered with a fond smile at Sam. “Takeout Chinese. That’s what I order every year on Christmas day, so I moved my order to today so I could share it with you.” He glanced at the kitchen clock, which was showing half past five.  “It’ll be here at six.” Castiel leapt to his feet, disappeared upstairs at almost a run. Sam and Dean stared at each other incredulously.  _ What gift? _

 

Castiel reappeared carrying a potted rosemary topiary, pruned to look like a Christmas tree and decorated with red bows and tinsel, precariously perched on top of a single very large Christmas gift, also decorated in red and silver. He carefully deposited both on the floor in front of his larger-than-Dean-remembered television, the tiny tree still perched atop the large box, and returned to his spot on the couch to reach for a glittering cookie angel. He bit the head off the angel and chewed slowly, his face completely innocent. 

 

“ _ What did you do? _ ” Dean breathed, studying the side of Castiel’s face while Sam leapt to his feet to examine the box, gently setting the rosemary aside and poking around the top of the box to find the card. Dean watched Castiel hide a smile, innocently watching Sam, and his lips curved into a smile of their own. 

 

“Cas, you shouldn’t ha- “

 

“ -  _ Don’t! _ ” 

 

Castiel’s voice was clipped - pitched low enough not to catch Sam’s attention over the music, urgent enough that Dean bit his tongue mid-sentence. When Dean met Castiel’s eyes, they were pleading. 

 

“I’m sorry Dean,” Castiel apologized in a whisper, his face anguished. “Just... please let me have this. _Please._ _I don’t have - “_

 

Castiel cut himself off in mid-sentence, tearing his eyes away from Dean and returning to watching Sam, his face carefully neutral. He set the rest of his cookie painstakingly down on the coffee table - only the third one he’d even touched today, some part of Dean’s brain noticed - and he carefully enunciated every word as Sam looked up to pay attention, his voice even and without inflection.

 

“I haven’t given a Christmas gift in a very long time. I earn my own money now, so -”

 

Castiel cut himself off again. He took a deep breath, and tried one more time.  

 

“I apologize, I wasn’t sure of the societal etiquette as to acceptable monetary value versus the incurring of uncomfortable social debt, but I chose something I very much want you boys to have. Please... “ Castiel faltered, emotion creeping into his voice as he ended in a whisper. “ _ Please, just... open it. _ ”

 

Sam looked to Dean for permission, his eyes wide, and Dean nodded, swallowing his anguish down and adopting an easy smile, forcing it to reach his eyes. He smiled reassuringly at Castiel without reaching out to touch him in any way; he didn’t want Cas to shrink away from him and Castiel looked like he might cry.

 

“It’s okay, Cas,” Dean soothed, “it’s just a thing you have to say. You have to say ‘You shouldn’t have’, but I didn’t mean anything by it. Of course we love presents, right Sam?”

 

Sam nodded vigorously, grinning ear to ear.  _ His _ smile wasn’t forced at all, and he reached into the envelope that held the card, read the inscription, and protested “ _ Hey _ !” Sam tossed the card at Dean and started working at the paper, looking for the edges of the tape, while Dean read the card and began to splutter, his sympathetic anguish forgotten.

 

_ “Merry Christmas _

_ To Sam and Dean _

_ From Castiel _

_ Please enjoy this gift of endless death by my hand.” _

 

Castiel’s face bloomed into a soft, satisfied smile as Dean scrambled across the living room to help Sam find the edges of the tape, changing into a smug smile instead as the boys realized there  _ were  _ no edges to the tape. They scraped holes with eager fingernails, started ripping strips of paper off until they could get their fingers behind the wrapping paper and get into the gift, their mouths falling open as the contents revealed themselves.

 

“- No  _ WAAAAY - “ _

 

“ - Oh my  _ GOD - “ _

 

“ - Can we play  _ now _ ? - “ 

 

“ - Aww shit, won’t it have to update first?”

 

Castiel beamed at the Winchesters as they stared up at him beseechingly from the living room carpet, surrounded by bits of wrapping paper with their hands clutching at the sides of the box, emblazoned with a giant green and white X.

 

“I already downloaded all the updates this week in hopes we could play today,” Castiel promised. “I also got us each a subscription to XBox Live for the year, but we won’t need those tonight, tonight we can play Halo. Right after dinner,” he added over his shoulder, leaping up to answer the doorbell.

  
Sam and Dean stared at each other in a dazed paralysis of delight for a long moment before realizing they should help. They jumped to their feet to help Castiel carry bags and to stack cookies in piles to make room on the table, chattering all the while about ads they’d seen for the game and wondering about what weapons there might be and barely noticing the food in their excitement; Castiel’s utterly contented satisfaction in their anticipation a sweet counterpoint to their increasing agitation to try the game. To Castiel’s smug delight even Sam barely made it past a whole plate of food, and the remaining dinner was summarily put away so that the game and controllers could be hooked back up to Castiel’s television.

 

Three men settled into the couch in their usual spots, Castiel and Dean each commanding a couch arm and an end table beer, Sam sprawled between them; controller cables stretching across the living room not at all like umbilical cords. They watched the opening scenes, riveted, and took turns walking the avatar around, getting a feel for the controllers and game action, practicing with different weapons for a few minutes until everyone was itching for combat. Once they switched to multiplayer mode the reason for Castiel’s recently acquired larger television became abundantly clear as the game split the screen real estate into smaller squares for each of them. 

 

“You can have my old TV if you want, “ Castiel offered shyly. “It was fine when I tried it with two players, but four was unplayable and I was sure we’d play at least three when you’re visiting and we aren’t playing over the Xbox Live…”  Castiel trailed off uncertainly as Sam interjected:

 

“ -  _ Oh my GOD _ do you know what that  _ means _ , Dean?”

 

“What’s that?” Dean asked, firing a rifle at Sam’s shiny blue helmet from behind a stack of computer generated rocks. “Sweet new TV? Hells, yes we’ll take it! Thanks Cas!”

 

“ _ It means _ ,” Sam huffed exasperatedly, as Dean’s avatar exploded ten feet into the air in a flash of light, to crumple, lifeless, to the earth, “ _ he’s been practicing without us. _ ”

 

When Dean leaned around Sam, eyes dancing, to glare furiously at Castiel, Castiel’s answering smile was so dazzlingly bright it burned glowing afterimages into Dean’s retinas like a welding spark.

  
  


 


	35. Christmas at Bobby's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is so soft and sweet and so poignant for me.   
> Mind the tags, and I will trust you to hold our boys in your heart.   
> <3 <3 <3

Sam and Dean got a late start heading out to Uncle Bobby’s on Sunday. Hanging out with Castiel until the wee hours had probably not been the best plan the night before striking out for South Dakota, but neither of them could find it in themselves to regret it. Castiel had been so damn pleased to wipe the floor with them, his smile as they bid their goodnights could have powered a DeLorean time machine if you could bottle it and get it into the Mister Fusion hopper somehow.  They woke up late, showered and packed their crap into Baby around the killer gift Dean had scored for Uncle Bobby, bickering companionably the whole time. Dean decreed they’d do an easy two-day drive if they could find a place to score a little motel money tonight. If not they’d take it through the night. They were on the road by noon, parking Baby in front of a dive bar full of rednecks in the wilds of Nevada by eleven pm. 

 

No one blinked an eye at Sam’s fake ID despite his youthful demeanor - long years of practice at selling Dad’s cons made the long-suffering quality of Sam’s baleful stare at being carded  _ yet again  _ second nature, the smirk on Dean’s face at his brother’s babyface problem so convincing that even Sam had almost believed him for a second. The bar served potato skins and chicken fingers, which Dean insisted they order even though Sam hadn’t really stopped eating Christmas cookies out of ziplock bags since leaving San José. 

 

Castiel had chased them out to Baby last night as they were pulling out of the driveway with a brown paper bag full of cookies in his arms, and Castiel’s insistence they take what had to be all - or at least the lion’s share - of the remaining cookies had taken them both by surprise. Sam’s delight at accepting the bag through his open window had not stopped Dean’s quiet dismay at Castiel rejecting the fruits of their day’s labor, but Castiel’s fond smile as he watched Sam search the ziplock bags enthusiastically in the dim light, hunting for pink sprinkles; the way the moon reflected a little too brightly in his eyes when they met Dean’s over the back of Sam’s head for Cas to silently mouth ‘Thank you Dean’, well, that had. 

 

Dean had smiled back, the knife twisting in his stomach easing into tightness in his chest as Castiel’s glance returned to watch Sam somehow find the fortitude to devour another cookie, the fondness on Castiel’s face for his little brother making Dean’s eyes sting. Castiel had stepped away from the window then, lifted his hand in farewell, and the Winchesters had both grinned at him and waved back as Dean backed Baby into the street, flicked her high beams since it was too late to touch the horn, roared away with Castiel still standing there, watching them go.

 

Dean managed to weasel his way into the pool game rotation at the bar, let himself talk a slightly better game than he played while Sam wrote notes out longhand in a notebook at the bar and nursed a beer, his laptop safely locked in Baby’s trunk. Dean drank ostentatiously, lost and won and lost their gas money again while he cheerfully trash talked, working his wagers up and his game down, until he was weaving a little where he stood, demanding Sam front him for one more game to win it all back and then some. 

 

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother, shrugged helplessly at the marks baring their teeth at him expectantly, and forked over the contents of his wallet.  Dean bet enough for a motel and a little for Baby besides, but when he straightened up from his winning shot, the wolves blinking in confusion, Sam’s quiet grin of appreciation was nice, but it didn’t fill the craving in his chest. Dean felt Castiel’s absence like a physical ache and he shook his head at himself as he palmed the stake off the edge of the table, airily declaring he’d be right back to play again after taking a piss. Sam followed, spluttering and demanding his money back, and they made their hasty escape the moment they were out of sight, before the snarling bar patrons could start the kind of shit that ended in black eyes or broken bones.

 

They drove several towns over, making  _ well _ sure they weren’t followed, before circling back a few blocks to a fleabag Sam had spotted and parking on the side of the building away from the street. They dragged ass into the office, yawning, duffels over their shoulders, to ask for a room. Dean pulled out a wad of twenties; fixed the clerk with a baleful glare when he offered them a King. The clerk flushed and apologized, and Dean sighed heavily and rolled his eyes.

 

“Nothing against anyone, man, we don’t judge,” he sighed. “But we’re brothers. We just want to get some rest and get back on the road, okay?”

 

The clerk stammered ‘yes sir’, handed them keys to a double, and they were horizontal within ten minutes, back on the road by seven am.  Despite Dean and then Sam giving Baby her head along several deserted stretches of highway, it was pushing midnight on Monday night when they pulled up to uncle Bobby’s. He took one look at them, clucked like a mother hen, and sent them straight to bed.

 

“It’s good to see you boys but you look like hammered whale shit. Catching up can wait,” Uncle Bobby fussed. “Go get some shuteye, and we’ll catch up in the morning.” 

 

Two boys nodded mutely, yawning. They accepted scratchy-bearded bearhugs and zombied their way upstairs to their respective bedrooms, to find their beds made up and the rest of the square footage of their erstwhile rooms doubling as storage space for Uncle Bobby’s neverending overflow of projects. 

 

Sam collapsed into dreamless slumber within moments, but Dean lay awake for a long time, thinking about making cookies with Cas. Sam had bitten the head off a glittering angel three hundred miles ago and the visual had lodged itself in Dean’s mind, turning up other thoughts now in the dark.  He thought about Castiel cutting out row after row of gingerbread people and lining them up with geometric precision, the three of them icing and decorating cookies for hours, bag after bag of candy from the expensive organic store Castiel liked spread in a strip down the center of the kitchen table, for Cas to eat two and one bite of a third one, then shove the rest of them through the car window into Sam’s delighted arms. 

 

One melting peanut butter and chocolate kiss stolen from between their intertwined fingers. One snickerdoodle carefully broken in half while Castiel’s eyes blinked rapidly and he whispered  _ Thank you _ . And the head of one glittering gingerbread angel, the rest of which had sat untouched on the coffee table for the rest of the night after Castiel had carefully put it down, his hands trembling as he avoided Dean’s eyes after cutting himself off mid-sentence -

 

“Please let me have this. _Please._ _I don’t have -_ “

 

That half-sentence haunted Dean, hurt his chest as he lay on his back in the twin bed with the constricting footboard that made him need to lie at a diagonal since he’d outgrown it in his teens. He turned the phrase over and over in his mind, picked at it and worried it like a loose tooth, considering all of the terribly painful words that could form the object of that sentence.

 

Whatever it was going to be - whatever Castiel was asking him and Sam to  _ be _ for him by coming over and making Christmas cookies that Castiel paid for but let Sam eat all of and by opening a terribly expensive gift so Cas could grin like a wolf as he murdered them over and over - Dean found himself desperately hoping they could give it to him. Dean’s eyes welled alone in the dark where no one could see him as he finally drifted into slumber, desperately hoping Castiel had kept any cookies, and that this year, whatever it was he didn’t have, that maybe not having it sucked _ just a little less _ .

  
  


***

 

Dean woke with a start to the sound of an engine revving somewhere outside the window, both his elbows banging painfully against the headboard as he jerked awake.  _ Fuck, _ he had not missed this bed. He hissed, rubbing his elbows, the balls of his feet flat against the footboard, and the blanket tenting over his inevitable morning wood. Dean reached down to press his palm against his erection through the blanket. Shit, how many times had he jacked off in this room? What was once more? Dean snorted, glanced at the sun coming through the window.

 

_ Fuck _ , by the angle of the sunbeam it was late morning, maybe even noon. He could hear Bobby yelling something, Sam’s muffled response, and the engine revved again before spluttering out.  _ Better be quick then _ . He threw the covers off so his stomach and chest were bare, arched his back to pull his boxers off so he’d have something to wipe up with in a minute. Dean didn’t even try to MacGyver his situation before getting started. It wasn't like he was at Cas’s house with a drawer full of lube; this was his old bedroom plus a bunch of cardboard boxes and stacks of newspapers, and what was that, half a carburetor?  _ For fuck’s sake _ .  _ Focus. _

 

Dean gritted his teeth and shut his eyes, stroked his cock a little faster, his grip loose and dry. He fervently wished he had thought to bring some of the lube Cas had given him. He still had a couple packets at home; he was trying to make them last as long as he could because he still hadn’t worked up the nerve to visit the store. Cas had slipped him a post-it note after their conversation, the address written out in careful longhand - pointedly not looking Dean in the eye as he did so - the flush from Dean’s teasing about how much he liked it still high on his cheeks. Dean grinned as he thought about Cas blushing furiously, looking away as he registered what he was saying. He thought about the delicious slick slide of that first time he’d tried it, and the intensity of that first orgasm. It had felt good every time after, but not  _ as _ good, and he couldn’t pin down why. 

 

Dean tried to picture what he’d done differently that day. He couldn’t recreate the slick sensation of course… but he’d been on his back just like this, not in the shower like every time since. And he’d been fucking up into his fist, instead of stroking… Dean tried that again without lube and it wasn’t the same. It was slightly more arousing than just his dry hand, so he kept doing it for a while, biting his lip and concentrating, but unable to recapture any of the urgency or heat from that other time. It just wasn’t working. Dean collapsed on his back and went back to stroking with his hand, frustrated. What else had he done? 

 

Dean idly scraped the fingernail of his index finger back and forth across his nipple, trying to remember the difference, but it wasn’t until he heard Bobby holler at Sam again that he remembered.  _ Cas!  _ Cas had been talking to Sam. He shuddered as he remembered the rumble of Castiel’s voice as his footfalls came up the stairs, felt an echo of the stab of terror in his stomach, the electrifying urgency that he was going to be discovered, each footfall bringing the inevitable shame closer as he couldn’t seem to stop his hand and then Castiel’s voice, curling through the door, saying his name. 

 

Dean groaned as he came over his hand, the desperate heat at the idea of Castiel opening that door and seeing him like this making his breath come in gasps and his stomach clench in shame as his pleasure ebbed into little aftershocks. He shouldn’t be thinking about his best friend when he jacked off.  _ It’s just the idea of getting caught _ , he told himself, guiltily wiping up and stuffing his balled up boxers in the far end of his duffel.  _ Everyone likes the idea of getting caught. It’s like a whole entire kind of porn. _ He grabbed clean clothes and slunk down the hall to shower; was already under the stream of hot water and soaping his pits before he caught the tail end of that thought and pulled it back to examine it.  _ Wait, is Cas my best friend?  _

 

Dean toweled off, wrapping the threadbare towel around his waist. He rinsed the toothbrush that was still here waiting for him for a  _ really _ long time under the hottest water he could get before squeezing a dollop of Bobby’s toothpaste on it and sticking it in his mouth. He stared at himself in Bobby’s rusty bathroom mirror as he brushed his teeth. Dean hadn’t really kept in touch with any friends since he dropped out of high school to take care of Sam. He had Sammy and Uncle Bobby, Alex and he supposed Big Man, but could you really call a man who held your life in his hands a friend? 

 

Dean spat into the sink and thought about Castiel. The way Cas stood up for him with the asshole client. His endless patience as he taught Dean how to do his job. Thursday night pool with Castiel’s attention on him, heavy and satisfying. Friday night dinners taking turns delighting Sam with their recipe choices. Cas’s hands trembling as he caressed his new orchid. Dean wondered, suddenly, what he’d name her. He smiled around his toothbrush thinking about how happy Cas had been the whole time he murdered them playing Halo on Saturday, and he spat into the sink and rinsed his mouth thinking about how much he liked the way Cas just… showed how he felt, in real time as he felt it, in exactly the way Dean was incapable of doing. _Yeah, I think he is._ _Cas is my best friend._

 

It felt good, a warmth spreading in his stomach at naming the sentiment, and he padded down the hall to get dressed and get his ass downstairs to face the metric ton of shit he was gonna get for sleeping in with a glow in his chest and a soft smile curving his lips.

 

***

 

Dean found his family in the giant junkyard that was Uncle Bobby’s property by following the sound of muffled cursing. He found Uncle Bobby - his backside anyway - sticking out from under a beat-up truck hood in the least rusty bay of his garage. Sam’s flowing locks obscured his face in the driver’s seat, his nose stuck in a book. Dean leaned against the nearest clunker, hunching his shoulders and wrapping his coat a little tighter as he sipped microwaved coffee from a brown mug with some sort of half worn off gold fishing emblem on the side. The late morning sun sparkled across his wet hair, fighting the frost that wanted to settle in it, and making him wish, of all things, that he owned a hat. 

 

Bobby hauled his grizzled head out from under the hood to holler at Sam to give her another try, and Sam grinned to see Dean as he started the engine and revved her again, easing off while Bobby glared at the engine and narrowed his eyes, daring her to continue defying him. This time the old girl idled, and Bobby nodded in satisfaction. He wiped his hands on the filthy rag hanging out of the pocket of his equally filthy quilted vest, and dropped the hood shut with a clang. 

 

Bobby waved to Sam to kill the engine and fixed Dean with a wry smile. “Afternoon, Sunshine, so glad you could join us. Get all your beauty sleep okay?”  

 

Dean grinned and shrugged his shoulders; that was actually pretty mild as far as admonitions went. Uncle Bobby was clearly in a great mood. “Yes, Uncle Bobby,” he answered truthfully.  “I couldn’t fall asleep for a while last night so I guess my body took what it needed this morning. Sorry I wasn’t down to help sooner. But I’m here now?” he looked hopefully at the truck, but Bobby shook his head.

 

“Sam and I just got this old gal buttoned up Son, but I’ve got plenty you can do after lunch, don’t you fret.” Bobby grinned and clapped Dean on the shoulder as he waved at Sam to head inside, and the boys trailed after him as he stomped his way indoors, wiping the snow off his boots at the door before crossing to the refrigerator to haul out plastic bags of deli meat and cheese and set them on the kitchen counter.  Dean leapt to help, and between them they had roast beef and cheddar sandwiches and chips plated and on the table in under five minutes, cans of soda all around since it was definitely too early for beer.

 

They sank into their familiar spots at Uncle Bobby’s table, Sam’s mouth already full before Dean had even gotten himself situated. Bobby grinned at Sam and then lifted an eyebrow at Dean, asking the question before taking a bite of his own sandwich.

 

“You been having trouble sleeping a lot, Son?” Bobby chewed speculatively as he watched Dean’s face.

 

“Not really -”

“- Yeah. He tosses and turns a lot now,” Sam tattled, “and half the time he’s tired when he wakes up.”  Sam reached across the table for the bag of chips while Dean glared at him and shrugged at Bobby.

 

“The job’s been stressful, Uncle Bobby. But it wasn’t that last night.” Dean glared at Sam again and shoved a couple chips in his mouth to buy time, wrapped his hands around his sandwich.  “I guess I just have a lot on my mind.” He took a giant bite of roast beef and chewed slowly, scowling at his sandwich, his forehead creased.

 

Bobby didn’t press him, turned to Sam instead. “How’s school been, Sam?” 

 

That unleashed a torrent of rapid-fire information, some of which was new to Dean, and he and Bobby both listened intently as Sam described his courses, his classmates, his most annoying professors, and, with great smugness, his exceptional grades in every one of his classes for the first quarter, some of which Dean had not yet heard about. Dean nodded his satisfaction as Bobby beamed at Sam, exclaiming “I knew you could do it, Son!”

 

“He’s been working his ass off Bobby, you should see how hard the kid studies.” Dean grinned at Sam’s sheepish embarrassment under his praise, but it was well-deserved. He kicked Sam gently under the table so Sam would look him in the eye, and said out loud what he had only managed to whisper to Castiel before. “You really are kicking in in the ass, Sammy. I’m proud of you.”

 

Sam stared at Dean blankly for several seconds, smiling shyly as he finally realized Dean wasn’t giving him shit, he meant it. “Thanks Dean,” he murmured. “You are too. Cas told me you’re really good at your job now, like just straight up doing a good job without needing any help anymore.” Sam grinned as Dean’s face went blank this time, unable to process the largesse of praise, even secondhand.

 

Bobby observed their conversation shrewdly, working a toothpick he’d pulled from somewhere on his person between a couple of molars. “This Cas maybe on your mind last night, Dean?”

 

Dean frowned, recollecting. “Actually yes, it was what Cas said when I said ‘you shouldn’t have’ about the gift --”

 

“ -- Oh my god, that was  _ so sad _ , Dean, “ Sam interrupted.  “But it turned out okay, right? The orchid you picked out was definitely a huge hit, and then Cas was super happy making the cookies with you, even if I ate most of them…” Sam grinned smugly, not even a little bit sorry, before continuing pensively “And we loved the XBox, and Cas certainly had a good time wiping the floor with us all night...”

 

“Yeah I think it turned out okay,” Dean nodded. “But... I just couldn’t stop thinking about what Cas  _ doesn’t have _ , and I - it kept me up for a bit, that’s all.” 

 

Sam nodded. “I was thinking about it too, ever since I ate that last glitter angel, but I had a sugar crash from the cookies. I passed right out the second I was horizontal.”

 

Dean looked at Sam across the table, surprised. “That’s when  _ I _ started to think about it, when you ate that glitter angel.” they stared at each other for a second, grinning in stereo at their matching trains of thought, until Bobby cut in.

 

“This Cas is real pretty, I take it? Don’t get me wrong, I am glad it hasn’t been all work and no play for you, Dean, but is it a good idea for you to date someone from work?” 

 

Sam spit himself while Dean actually guffawed out loud, both of them staring at Bobby in delight.

 

“I guess you could say Cas is real pretty,” Sam offered, giggling, “I mean, those  _ gorgeous _ blue eyes, and cheekbones to  _ die _ for...” Dean snorted and shook his head, still snickering too hard to speak.

 

“Castiel,” Dean finally managed to clarify. “ _ His _ name is Castiel, Bobby.”

 

Bobby’s eyebrows rose in surprise for a microsecond before he smoothed his face to supportive, and nodded gravely. “As long as you’re happy I’m happy, Dean, but my point about dating at work still stands -“

 

He stopped as Sam’s delighted laughter drowned him out completely, and Dean shook his head, grinning.

 

“A friend, Bobby. I made a new friend named Castiel, that I met at my job.” His grin widened at Bobby’s sheepish grin, and he added “Much as I appreciate the support, I, uh, still like the ladies Uncle Bobby.” Bobby shrugged, holding his hands up in surrender, and Dean continued his narrative. “Anyway, he’s been really awesome, and he’s  _ in it _ with us now.”

 

Bobby’s eyebrows rose and stayed up this time, as Sam confirmed with a nod before Dean went on.

 

“Yeah, he, uh, he helped train me how to do my job right. So we’ve been doing dinner at his place sometimes because he doesn’t cook and he’s got a whole kitchen and he likes to eat what I make so it just worked out,” Dean explained, “but we found out that he -“ Dean glanced at Sam and Sam nodded imperceptibly; Castiel’s story was not theirs to share. Whatever story Dean offered now was how it would stand.  “- He doesn’t have any family. So he hasn’t done Thanksgiving or Christmas for a really long time but this year we cooked Thanksgiving dinner at his place, and we got him a flower for Christmas because he likes those. He’s got a whole awesome zen garden full of them, you should see it Bobby - ” Dean popped a potato chip in his mouth to buy himself a couple seconds; his slight tripping over the mention of the flower had made it past scrutiny, but what he’d paid for it was  _ never, ever,  _ going to cross his lips. He swallowed and finished the thought. “And Cas got us an XBox for Christmas so we could play together.”  

 

“So he could murder us all night you mean,” Sam complained, “He  _ practiced _ , Bobby.” 

 

A slow smile spread across Bobby’s face as he listened. “I like this guy already,” he opined, standing up to put the food away as Dean leapt up to help, continuing to explain as he opened the dishwasher to arrange the plates inside.

 

“Anyway, when he brought out this giant gift wrapped box I started to say “you shouldn’t have,’ and he got  _ really _ upset. He begged us to open it and he started to say ‘ _ I don’t have - _ ‘ and he didn’t finish and we opened the present and he felt better, but it just got me kind of thinking about family and stuff.”  Dean trailed off, shrugging. He looked to Sam, who nodded in agreement.

 

“Well,” Bobby offered dryly, “if he hasn’t got one of his own and you like him so much, maybe you can add him to yours. Family don’t end in blood, boys.”

 

Sam and Dean nodded solemnly, and looked at each other silently. 

 

“We’re trying,” Sam answered finally. “We did the Holidays with him and that seemed to make him really happy.

 

Dean nodded. “He got all choked up about it, Bobby. He tried to pretend like he didn’t, but he’s not really good at hiding stuff like that.”

 

Bobby snorted, drying his hands on the kitchen towel looped through the oven handle. “He doesn’t know the Winchester Way, huh?”

 

Dean snorted and shrugged, answered sarcastically. “No one there to teach him how to properly bottle that shit up during his formative years I guess.” His face fell as he met Sam’s eyes and they shared a look of anguish, simultaneously realizing Dean was probably right. Dean looked away, his heart heavy, and blew out a breath.

 

Bobby put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, several seconds ticking past before he spoke. “Come on Dean,” Bobby said kindly, “I’ve got a ton of two-man jobs I been saving up, and Sam is already studying for classes he ain’t even in yet.” He grinned at Sam approvingly, already busy lining his nest of papers and books on the couch. Dean nodded and pulled his coat back on with enthusiasm, and the two of them headed out into the yard to wrangle heaps of metal into doing their bidding, already companionably conversing in the language known as Automobile. Sam listened to their voices fade away, grinning and shaking his head, and then he bent over a textbook and started to read.

 

***

 

By six o’clock Dean was both exhausted and tremendously satisfied, and Bobby called it a day because his hands were starting to shake. 

 

“Gotta eat something,” he grumped, “or I’m gonna get the dropsies.”

 

Dean nodded. “I get that when I’m doing work like this. Not so much the job I’m doing now.” He grinned and Bobby scoffed, wiping his hands on his pocket rag and straightening up from where he’d been bent over an engine. 

 

“Soft-hands work, you mean Boy?”

 

“Yessir.”  Dean grinned even more holding up his filthy hands, and Bobby handed him the rag, which did no more than spread it around. Dean laughed for sheer happiness and Bobby clapped him on the back, turned to head inside. 

 

“Come on, let’s rustle up some grub. Sam’ll be starving by now, that kid is a bottomless pit.”

 

“Oh my god Bobby,” Dean nodded vehemently, “I had no idea until it was just the two of us; not really. He ate -  _ had to be _ \- at least five pounds of Christmas cookies just on the drive here, and we still bought lunch and dinner and snacks at gas stations.”

 

Bobby grinned, nodding. “Yup. Kid’s still growing, believe it or not. You probably don’t remember exactly how damn much you ate when you were his age, but I  _ will  _ say your brother’s got you beat.”  

 

They stepped through the kitchen door to hang up their coats and stamp snow off their feet on the carpeted rubber mat by the door, only for Sam to plaintively demand from the couch “ _ Finally _ , you guys were out there forever! Are we gonna have dinner soon?”  Dean and Bobby grinned at each other, and Bobby answered.

 

“Holdjer horses kid, let me wash my hands and then we’ll have a looksee in the fridge, alright?” he stepped to the sink to wash his hands while Dean grinned at Sam. 

 

“Finish all your cookies?”  

 

“ _ Hours _ ago,” Sam complained, grinning back. “Are you…” Sam’s face grew sheepish but kind of hopeful as he stared up at Dean and his mind supplied a long shot. “Are you gonna make any more?”

 

The laugh that burst out of Dean was a thing of pure joy. It lit up his face and Sam’s face too just to see it; even Bobby turned to watch Dean hoot and groan and clutch his stomach in pain, finally wiping his eyes with the back of a filthy hand to beam at Sam and answer. “You got some nerve, Sammy.”

 

Sam grinned and hung his head, but Dean was still smiling at him, his eyes soft and fond. “If Bobby has apples, I’ll make you a pie, okay?”

 

They both looked to Bobby, who beamed proudly. “Of  _ course _ I have apples, and cherries and blueberries in the freezer too, Dean. And rum, for my world-famous rum balls.”  He grinned at both of them. “Which you can  _ both  _ have this year, on account of I’m proud of you boys.” He muttered under his breath quietly enough that only Dean caught it as he stepped up for his turn to wash his hands,  “ _ And Lord knows the two of you already had to grow up fast enough, might as well get the perks. _ ”

 

Dean grinned at Bobby guiltily. “I’ve been trying to get Sammy to drink beer since we moved out, but don’t worry, he’s awful at it.” Bobby tried to glare but he couldn’t, it came out more as a rueful grin, as Dean went on. “Sometimes he drinks half of one and leaves it out overnight, and then _ drinks the rest the next day _ .”

 

Bobby successfully kept a straight face, remarking in a reasonable tone “At least he’s not wasting it.”

 

Dean was utterly horrified, staring at Bobby in open-mouthed betrayal while Sam gloated self-righteously, until Bobby cracked and shook his head. “That’s disgusting, Sam.”

  
“SEE! I TOLD YOU!” Dean hollered and Sam harrumphed and argued it was better than pouring it out, and Bobby ignored them both to root around in the refrigerator and come out with two entire boxes of pizza. He grinned at his boys and slapped Dean’s hands away from the boxes.

 

“Let me heat it up first. We’ll do a ham tomorrow with all the fixin’s, but tonight I wanted to relax, hang up the stockings you’re too old for, decorate that tree I got set up in there, pop some corn, maybe watch some Walker, Texas Ranger.  Sound good to you boys?”

 

It did, it really did, and they set about wiping off the table and clearing Sam’s nest and getting out plates and unpacking the boxes of decorations - yes, even the mouse-gnawed macaroni and glitter ones from Sam’s elementary school days -  with boisterous delight that very nearly, but not quite, distracted them all from the ache no one had mentioned of three plates at the table where there should be four.

 

***

 

On Christmas morning Dean’s eyes flew open just before his phone alarm, which was impressive since he’d set it for five-thirty am. He fumbled around blindly on the nightstand for his phone, thumbed the alarm off before it had a chance to ring, swung his feet out of bed and onto the floor, yawning. No way Uncle Bobby was gonna take him for a layabout two days running. He pulled on yesterday’s jeans and a clean tee shirt and snuck down the hall, avoiding the floorboards and the three stairs that creaked, to make his way to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee and get started on pies.

 

By six-thirty when Bobby wandered into the kitchen, Dean had two apple pies in the oven and was making crusts for the cherry and blueberry fillings waiting in bowls on the counter. Bobby stoically filled a mug with the last of Dean’s pot of coffee and started a fresh pot, leaning on the counter to sip his coffee black and watch Dean roll out pie crusts with the traditional empty forty ounce beer bottle they kept under the sink for such occasions. Dean hummed under his breath as he assembled his pies, fluting the edges with a practiced thumb, his brow furrowed in concentration. When he poked perforations in perfect spokes on the top with a fork his lips curved into a fond smile, and his face was almost wistful as he set the pies in the oven on the top rack, glancing at the clock as he did so.

 

“You got someone on your mind, Boy?” Bobby’s voice made Dean jump, and his face went blank as he guiltily smoothed it. He studied Bobby’s expression but there was no judgement there, just a question, and Dean sighed.

 

“Yeah, I guess. I was just remembering how Cas froze up when I told him to poke holes into the crust until I gave him, like, exact instructions on how I wanted them.” Dean shrugged, embarrassed. “He’s real literal like that Bobby.” Dean tried to shake it off, added “I’ve made a lot of pies in Cas’s kitchen this year, that’s all.”

 

Bobby held his hands up placatingly. “Relax, Dean. I’m glad you made a friend. Been a long time you been worryin’ about your brother and no-one and nothing else; it’s good to see you live a little.”  He grinned. “Speaking of, how long you figure we can make Sam wait to open his present?”

 

Dean’s face bloomed into a huge grin. “Dunno Bobby, but let’s milk it a little. You got it wrapped?”

 

“I surely do.”  Bobby beamed at Dean and beckoned him to follow, and together they snuck up the stairs and down the hall, avoiding the stairs and the floorboards that creaked, to take a peek in Bobby’s bedroom. Dean covered his mouth so he wouldn’t make a sound, his eyes enormous, while Bobby bent down to pick up the giant box - bigger than the XBox had been, Dean noted - and they snuck back down the hallway. The box obscured Bobby’s vision and he hit a couple of the floorboards that creaked; their eyes met in panic, and they fled the rest of the way downstairs. Bobby had the box shoved as far under the tree as it could go, the tree branches still shaking, and the two of them were nonchalantly peeling potatoes and sipping black coffee, respectively, by the time Sam stumbled into the kitchen, blinking and yawning.

 

“Mornin’ Sunshine,” Bobby drawled, “Coffee?” 

 

Sam nodded mutely and Bobby set his cup down to pour Sam one from the fresh pot, got him milk and sugar too, and a spoon, set them in front of him at the kitchen table where Sam had slumped, yawning, into a chair. Sam assembled coffee, sipped at it, blinking blearily. As his mind spun up and he registered that Bobby was waiting on him his eyes narrowed. He tried to catch Dean’s eye but he couldn’t; Dean was completely absorbed in peeling potatoes, and in rearranging his pies in the oven when he glanced at the clock; anything, it seemed, but looking Sam in the eye.

 

Sam finished the cup of coffee and set it down on the table. When Bobby refilled it without a word Sam couldn’t take it anymore and spluttered “WHAT?” He spun his head in a slow, suspicious circle and the comically large gift in the living room finally registered, his face splitting into a giant grin as he fell over himself to go read the tag. Dean and Bobby watched him with satisfaction, the question on his face meeting twin stone walls.

 

“Gotta get the ham in the oven first, Son,” Bobby chided, “then we’ll do stocking just like always.  _ Then _ gifts.”

 

“Weren’t you gonna make rum balls this morning Bobby?” Dean asked innocently, his eyes sparkling.

 

“Well shoot, must be goin’ senile. Yes I was, Dean.” The two of them watched in delight while Sam practically vibrated in pure agony, until Bobby took a little pity on him.  “Come on Sam, you can help me roll out the rum balls if Dean will do the ham, I got my mix steeping in the fridge for a couple days to get it good and tasty.”

 

Dean nodded and set his peeled and quartered potatoes underwater in a saucepan to wait until the ham was close to done, found the roasting pan while Bobby and Sam washed their hands and set up an assembly line on the table with bowls of cocoa powder and white powdered sugar and waxed paper waiting on cookie sheets.

 

Bobby hadn’t been kidding, his rum ball mix was  _ potent, _ and even as Dean’s pies came out of the oven and the glazed ham went in, Dean couldn’t smell anything but dark rum. He risked trying one of the white-powdered ones and his eyes almost crossed from the flavor while Bobby grinned at him. It was really strong, a little chewy, and while he wasn’t sure he liked it, he found himself reaching for a cocoa coated one just to make sure. He wasn’t sure he liked that one either but Bobby cleared his throat as he reached for another white one just to be sure, and Dean did a double take, laughed and stepped away, hands up.

 

“Not sayin’ don’t, Dean, just sayin’ give those two a minute to settle in before you come back in for seconds,” Bobby warned. “They got a kick to ‘em and it ain’t even eight am yet.”

 

Dean blinked as the rum hit, grabbed the counter to steady himself.  “ _ Jesus _ Bobby, you aren’t kidding.”

 

Bobby grinned. “Toldja.”

 

Dean waited for the wave of dizziness to pass. It didn’t.  “Shit, I gotta eat something else.” He grinned fondly at his family, still rolling out rum balls between their palms. “Breakfast apple pie?”

 

That got grins and no protests, so Dean carved into a pie without waiting for it to cool, scooped out his share of the slightly runny filling, and parked himself at the table with a fork.

 

“What, no ice cream?” Bobby observed sarcastically, and Dean leapt up to get it, Bobby’s rolled eyes and head shake no dissuasion. He scooped out a generous dollop of vanilla ice cream on top of his pie, made up a plate of pie and ice cream for Sammy too at the puppy eyes, and put the ice cream back in the freezer to sit back down and dig into his breakfast with satisfaction. He had more ice cream than the pie needed and polished the last of it off with another rum ball, Bobby’s snort notwithstanding. 

 

“It’s your funeral,” Bobby grinned, and Dean grinned back at him over the top of Sam’s head, bent over his plate happily shoveling pie into his face. Dean watched as Bobby arranged his finished balls in tupperware, tearing off more sheets of wax paper to layer between them as he went.

 

“Okay,” Bobby decreed, wiping his hands dry at the sink. “Time for stockings.”

 

The boys cleared their plates and pretended at nonchalance and headed into the living room to sit down, but Sam wasn’t fooling anybody. Bobby collected the big felt stockings they’d had since they were children from their nails over the fireplace, set them in their laps, collected the one Sam had made for him in third grade and sat down next to them on the couch. No one said a word about the one that read “Dad” in big glittering letters that Bobby did not take down, instead they pretended not to look at it, pointedly looking anywhere else but at each other’s faces.

 

“Alright boys, go ahead,” Bobby said gently, and the three of them went ahead and dumped the stockings in their laps, firm family tradition since circa the mid-nineties when Dad’s well-meaning school supplies had included loose thumbtacks. Dean’s selection of airplane liquor bottles got a good laugh, especially since he’d given Sam all horrible sweet liquors. Sam’s layer fell out next - he had stuffed all three stockings with handfuls of candy, which crinkled as he started to unwrap chocolates and pop them in his mouth. Bobby’s gift was last so he must have gotten to the stockings first, and he hadn’t done his own, so what tilted out of the boot section of Sam and Dean’s stocking and fell into their laps didn’t fall into Bobby’s.

 

The small silver rectangles were heavier than their volume implied, worn with a patina of scratches. Sam’s had a small engraved emblem with an eagle astride a globe, the edges of the accompanying anchor worn off. Dean’s had a naked girl silhouette engraved in the side like Dean had seen on Bobby’s mudflaps, playboy bunny ears and all. Both of them lit on the first try, and Bobby grinned with satisfaction as the boys looked to him for his explanation.

 

“That was your father’s, Sam,” Bobby said softly. “I found it in his effects after...”  He trailed off as they all stared at the flame, flickering in the drafts of Bobby’s living room, until Bobby continued, turning to Dean. “And that one’s my favorite, had her for thirty years, Son. Your Dad only had the one and I have something else of his boxed up for you, but I didn’t want you to feel left out.” He smiled fondly at Dean and Dean swallowed, touched.

 

“You don’t have to give her up Uncle Bobby,” he murmured, his hand wrapping possessively around the lighter all the same, but Bobby smiled at him. “Naw Kid, rather see you enjoy it now than have you wait ‘til I’m dead.” He winced as the elephant in the room waved its trunk and added “I, uh, let’s just say I don’t get into her namesakes nearly the way I did when I was your age.” He grinned as Sam and Dean made matching faces, but the mood was successfully rescued as the boys caressed their treasures, Sam with a slight furrow on his forehead that gave Dean pause.

 

Bobby hauled himself off the couch to pull a VCR box out from behind the tree and handed it to Dean. “I’m sorry Dean,” he waved at the unwrapped box. “I used all the wrapping paper I had on Sam’s gift, but I don’t want to make a big deal out of it. I had a burst pipe I had to replumb so I been cleaning out a closet to get to it and I found this and... I just think John would’ve wanted you to have it.”

 

Dean slit the scotch tape holding the box flap shut with his thumbnail, his stomach in knots as he lifted the lid and the smell of… Dad wafted out from the old jacket; leather and whiskey and aftershave. He couldn’t help the tears springing to his eyes but he choked them back for Sam’s sake, took a deep breath and lifted the jacket out, dropping the box to pull the jacket on. It fit a little big but he didn’t care, pulled it tightly around himself and fought the tears as hard as he could, only losing one with his face buried in his own shoulder, inhaling the jacket.

 

When he met Bobby’s eyes they were misty too. “Looks good on you, Kid,” Bobby pronounced gruffly, but Sam slamming his lighter down on the coffee table drew both their startled glances. Sam’s eyes were red but he was furious, too, his fists balled in rage, glaring at the jacket on Dean.

 

Dean caught Sam’s eye, his face pleading. “What is it Sam,” he murmured, his hand held out placatingly. “Do you want the jacket?”

 

“What?  _ No _ , Dean,” Sam snapped. “I want Dad to not have abandoned us! I want him not to have checked out and dumped me on you and both of us on Uncle Bobby! You had to give up  _ everything _ to take care of me Dean!   _ How is that fair _ ?”  Sam’s eyes filled with tears and he shrank into himself, scowling as tears escaped and ran down his face. He was vibrating with rage, but the rules had been set at Uncle Bobby’s place since Dean hit double digits and got big enough to break things -  _ you can be as mad as you want but you do not yell you do not storm off you do not slam doors or throw things in this house or you will see the belt again  _ and neither of them ever had done any of those things again, not once, not ever.

 

Dean stared at Sam helplessly, his heart breaking, but it was Bobby who answered, his voice gentle but firm. 

 

“ _ No _ . It wasn’t like that Sam, and that’s not how we’re going to remember John.” Bobby took a deep breath as both boys turned to stare at him. He sighed heavily before continuing, his voice quiet and his focus lost somewhere in the middle distance. “I miss him too. But I been missing your Dad since the day he lost your Mom. John was never the same after Mary died. You were both too young to know any different, but it was like… like the best parts of him got buried with her, and he never found them again.”

 

Bobby took a deep breath, and his eyes focused on his boys now, searching their faces, his expression haunted. “Your Dad fought a battle every single day for the rest of his life so he could be with you boys. He loved you more than anything, and he fought  _ and won _ that battle every day for you boys for almost thirteen years.  _ That’s _ what we’re going to remember. He only slipped up the once, and we are  _ not _ gonna hold that one against him y’hear?  _ We just ain’t _ .”  Bobby’s voice cracked and he brusquely stood up to head into the kitchen and check on the ham.

 

Sam and Dean turned to each other, their mouths open and their eyes red, then turned away in concert to wipe at their eyes.

 

“I never thought of it like that before,” Sam murmured, his voice quavering.

 

“Me neither,” Dean admitted, his voice rough. He cleared his throat, but he didn’t say anything else. He had no idea what else to say.

 

Sam picked up his lighter and flicked it again, stared at the flame. “You look good in Dad’s jacket,” he muttered finally, not looking at Dean. When Dean glanced at him sharply he wasn’t teasing. There was a soft smile around his lips but not his teasing smile, his fond one, and Dean stood up a little straighter, pleased.

 

“Thanks,” he murmured, admiring the lapels of the jacket, and turning this way and that to look down at himself. It was too hot and he was starting to sweat, so he reluctantly pulled it off, handed it to Sam as an afterthought so Sam could smell it. Dean pretended not to watch as Sam accepted the wad of leather and the smell hit him, and when Sam’s eyes filled with fresh tears Dean made his way into the kitchen to help Bobby with the ham to give his brother a moment.

 

Bobby was leaning on the counter, nibbling delicately at a rum ball from the unlidded container beside him. He washed it down with a sip of rum from a tumbler sitting on the counter next to the tupperware, and at the look on Dean’s face he turned around, took another tumbler down from the cabinet, and poured a couple fingers of rum for Dean.  Dean joined Bobby without a word, leaning his backside against the counter, long legs crossed in an unconscious imitation of Bobby’s stance. He chose a white powdered rum ball to check if he liked those again, nibbled at it and washed it down with a sip of rum. The pairing was actually lovely and he raised his eyebrows, nodded at Bobby approvingly.

 

Bobby snorted. “Yeah, if it weren’t nine in the morning, maybe.”

 

Dean grinned and reached for a cocoa one, just to be sure he didn’t like those either, as Sam appeared, wearing John’s jacket. The sleeves were comically short on him and he grinned at Bobby and Dean and shook his head as they both guiltily hid their rum glasses behind their backs.

 

“Dude, it’s like nine in the morning!”

 

“Don’t you have a gift to open, boy?” 

 

Bobby’s gambit worked like a charm. Sam’s face lit up like TODAY morning and he bolted for the living room, shrugging out of Dean’s new jacket as he fell over himself to drop the jacket carefully on the couch, drag the giant box out from under the tree, tear at the wrapping paper. Bobby and Dean watched from opposite sides of the doorway, matching tumblers of rum in their hands, Dean’s need to lean on the door frame quite legitimate as the alcohol slipped into his bloodstream.

 

Sam got enough paper off the box to see the picture and his jaw dropped in astonished disbelief. He glared at Bobby and then at Dean to be sure they hadn’t just found a box to tease, but the smug grins on their faces promised this was legit. Sam’s “No WAAAAAY” as he opened the box, found name-brand packing materials and the actual machine described on the side really truly actually inside the box made Dean’s chest burn with satisfaction, warmer than the flush from the rum already doing a number on him. He flashed Bobby a victory smile, Bobby’s satisfaction just as palpable as Dean’s, and crossed to plop himself down on the couch and watch Sam unwrap his various and sundry peripherals from their silver anti-static bags, a small nest of packaging building around Sam as he marvelled.

 

Sam had the various disks that came with the laptop out and was halfway through reading their titles before the question hit him, and he looked up at Dean suspiciously from where he was cross-legged on the living room floor to ask it. “Wait,  _ how did you afford this Dean? _ ”

 

Dean’s answering smile was smug as hell. “Christmas bonus for winning Employee of the Fricking Year, Sammy. Got a plaque and everything at the company Christmas party, and I wired Bobby the money so we could surprise you.” Bobby nodded his agreement, beaming. If he had thrown in a few bucks to get the next model up from what Dean’s bonus could manage there was no way he was letting it slip, this was Dean’s moment as far as he was concerned.

 

Sam’s face was not the unmitigated success Dean had anticipated. Instead his forehead furrowed and he chewed his lip absently staring at the laptop, considering, before meeting Dean’s eyes again. “Did you… shouldn’t you have split that money with Cas?”  Bobby’s eyebrows rose as Dean smiled down at his brother reassuringly. 

 

“Yeah, I thought of that too. But I asked if I could wait until after Christmas to pay him back -”

 

“- Dude! That’s not cool - “

 

“- Shut up - and he said you could have the laptop, no strings.” Dean’s smile grew bashfully proud. “He said his stock options are worth more because of me, and he said - he said - ‘ _ Get Sam his laptop, you earned that bonus Dean _ .’”  Dean’s face added a bit of a heat flush over the top of the alcohol one, remembering how good the praise had felt to read, and Sam nodded up at him, satisfied.

 

“Good. Cas wouldn’t say that if it weren’t true, so you must be really killing it. Good job, Dean!” Sam turned back to marvelling over his new machine, clearing a path through the debris to find an outlet for the power supply, so he didn’t notice the surprised pleasure on Dean’s face at the compliment, or Bobby’s keen interest in their conversation.

 

“Sam ain’t the only one getting straight A’s, sounds like,” Bobby remarked, and Dean looked at him in astonishment, his forehead crinkling up in confusion.

 

“What? I’m just - “

 

“Ain’t no ‘just’ about it, Kid,” Bobby cut him off. “You’re doing the job, Dean. Yes you needed help to learn how, but that’s no crime. You found someone who could help you, however it happened - he took a shining to you or he took pity on you - “ Bobby grinned as Dean looked theatrically offended - “Point is Son, you learned. You won Employee of the Year and the man who trained you on his own time for the Con didn’t take his cut, because you added honest-to-goodness cash value to the place you’re workin’.” Bobby beamed proudly at Dean. “That ain’t nothin’, Dean. I’m real proud of you, and you should be too.”

 

Sam grinned up at Dean’s astonished face, completely paralyzed in the face of so many accolades at once. “See? Toldja.”  Sam remembered something and looked at Bobby in a panic. “Bobby, it came in time, right? I totally forgot to ask last night - ”

 

“Yes, it came, got it wrapped under the tree,” Bobby assured him, and Sam leapt up to fetch a small box, approximately the size and shape of a brick, check the tag, grin and hand it unceremoniously to Dean. “Here. I hope I don’t regret this.”

 

Dean’s paralysis disappeared in the face of a  _ gift _ , and he shook it eagerly, listened to the rattle.

 

“Cassettes.” He declared firmly, and Sam grinned at him. 

 

“What  _ kind _ ?”

 

Dean stared at Sam for a second, baffled. “Maxell? TDK? Memorex? How the hell can I tell from the rattle, do they sound different?”

 

Sam shook his head, grinning. “OK, that’s fair. But they aren’t blank this time. I’m not eight anymore, jackass.”

 

Dean’s face lit up with anticipation and he tore at the wrapping paper with alacrity, only to gasp in delight as he read the hand-written labels on the dozen neatly arranged cassettes in their rattling plastic cases. They  _ were _ Memorex, but they were technically also in that delightful genre known as “Bootleg.”  Dean read the names and dates of the shows out loud, his excitement ratcheting up by degrees at each one.

 

“ _ Oh shit _ , ‘82 Radio City - Hetfield didn’t even play guitar yet then!  _ Jesus _ , ‘83 at The Stone - this is impossible to find! ‘88 in L.A.! ‘91 Tushino Airfield, ‘92 San Diego,  _ Oh my God _ you even found ‘95 Whiskey a Go-Go as the Lemmys???” Dean turned wide eyes to Sam. “How the hell did you pull this off, Sam? Where did you even  _ find _ all of these?”

 

Sam grinned, pleased. “Good, I thought you’d go nuts. There’s some pretty new site called ‘E-bay’ right out of San José. I found some Metallica superfan selling his bootleg copies of shows and Bobby let me use his credit card to order you a boxed set of his best stuff.”

 

“Only after I called the bank to make sure the site wasn’t a scam,” Bobby grumbled. “Some dumbass selling copies of copies outta the back of a van, only now that van has an internet connection.”

 

“Are you kidding me?” Dean breathed. “I’ll be making copies of his copies of copies just so I can make fresh ones when I wear those down to a hiss.”

 

Sam nodded in satisfaction at Dean’s obvious delight. “Good,” he grinned. “That E-Bay site does sound like a scam at first but I think it might be going places.” 

 

“Buncha scammers going global, more like it,” Bobby harrumphed. Dean grinned at Sam, clutching the box of precious cargo possessively in both hands. 

 

“Thank you Sam. I  _ love _ it.”  

 

Sam grinned right back. “Well jeez, Dean, yours  _ kind _ of blew mine out of the water…”

 

“No way. That’s a necessity. You  _ need _ that, for school. THIS is just a kickass awesome gift. Wait, did I pack my Walkman?” Dean’s face rapidly traveled through alarm, then concentration, then relief. “Yeah I did,” he reassured himself, nodding his head and clicking through the cassettes again with one finger, paging through the plastic cases like cards in a card catalogue before remembering there were more gifts to dole out and setting the box down carefully on the coffee table. 

 

“I gotta go out to Baby to get your present Uncle Bobby,” Dean explained. “In fact, I could use a hand bringing it it in if you don’t mind, Sam?”

 

Sam clambered off the floor willingly, and Bobby agreed to stay in the living room since it was ‘too hard to wrap Uncle Bobby, you’ll see why.’

 

Two boys huffed breathlessly through the front door, bickering about where to set it and kicking the front door shut with a little more force than anticipated, earning a cleared throat from the living room and apologies from the kitchen before Dean called out “Okay Uncle Bobby!” 

 

Two boys watched Uncle Bobby’s face as he realized in an instant what they were holding and his face lit up.

 

“Is that the hood for my Mustang???  _ Where did you find that _ ? How did you GET that here?” Bobby gaped at the part his pet restoration had been waiting on  _ for years _ , and Sam and Dean beamed at him in triumph.

 

“One of Diego’s boys hooked me up.” Dean grinned at the look crossing Bobby’s face. “It isn’t hot Bobby, he works at a salvage yard and this one came in completely totalled. Rear-ended, back end was a pretzel. Front end was only a little dented, figure you could fix her up - “   
  


“Damn straight I can,” Bobby breathed, coming over to caress the dents in the disembodied hood. “Today after the ham and before the game, if you’re inclined Dean?” 

 

Dean beamed and nodded. He was definitely inclined. 

 

Bobby looked at them again, still puzzled. “How did you - “

 

Sam straight up giggled.  “Baby’s trunk swallowed it whole, Bobby.”

 

“It _ never  _ did.” 

 

“Well we had to maneuver a bit to deal with the wheel wells, but it really did,” Sam assured Bobby. 

 

“It was pretty awesome,” Dean agreed. “I knew she could do it, though.” Dean tilted his head towards the door. “We good to set this out front?

 

“Oh, yeah, ‘course,” Bobby nodded, “Sorry.”

 

Dean laughed, as he and Sam hefted the thing again, grunting with effort. “Door, please Bobby?”

 

Bobby swept past them to get the door, watched them lean the hood against a snow bank with his gears turning a mile a minute.  _ Should be able to pop out the biggest dents, maybe bondo the dime-sized ones, but damn if it ain’t a hell of an improvement over the crumpled mess of the one she came with, now just a few interior panels and _ \- his reverie was interrupted by two grinning boys filing past him back into the kitchen to stomp snow off their boots and shuck their jackets, one of those boys crossing the kitchen to nab a couple more rum balls from the tupperware on the counter.  Bobby shook his head, smiling softly. Rum balls were a lesson that could only come from experience, and damned if he was gonna interfere by saying a word.

 

Dean turned the heat on under the potatoes with barely a wobble in his step, and three men settled into the couch to variously fondle their treasures and wait for ham and pretend not to watch the last half of  _ The Year Without a Santa Claus,  _ which happened to be what was playing when Bobby flicked on the TV, surreptitiously glanced at his boys’ faces, and casually left the channel where it was.

  
  


 


	36. Boxing Day

_ “Are you doing anything New Years Eve?”   _

 

Castiel’s phone vibrated and he picked it up off the counter and studied the text. It was Boxing Day so he had the day off, not that he observed Christian holidays anymore in particular but he hadn’t felt like undertaking his personal tradition of repotting whoever needed it on Christmas day, electing to work on his head start in Halo with great satisfaction for almost the entire day, so he was doing it today instead. He had several white garbage bags spread over the kitchen table, some colorful new ceramic pots scrubbed and disinfected, and several orchids, including the still as yet unnamed new beauty from Dean - and Sam of course, but somehow he  _ knew  _ Dean had chosen her - lined up on the kitchen counter waiting for their chance at new digs.

 

Castiel sighed. He  _ did _ have plans for New Years Eve, and they involved masturbating until he was too tired to move and then taking the pills he hated because they dulled his mind and trying to ride out the fireworks with noise cancelling headphones blaring something, anything, while he lay curled up in bed, twitching. It was his newest tradition, also expected to be observed on the Chinese New Year, July Fourth, Memorial Day, Labor Day, and Veteran’s day.

 

But he missed Dean, and he missed Sam, and there was no pool night tonight and no dinner night tomorrow. The Winchesters were hundreds of miles away and he felt those miles as a physical ache, like a gentle homesickness, something he hadn’t felt in decades. It would be nice to have something to look forward to. Maybe he had practiced enough breathing techniques that he’d be okay this time, some wine maybe to take the edge off. 

 

_ “I was going to stay in with a bottle of wine. What did you have in mind Dean?” _

 

_ “Nothing. We miss u. Can we crash ur party? We’ll bring takeout?”  _

 

_ “And Sam wants 2 know if we bring our machines can we set up a LAN & play Counter-Strike? He’s super excited to try out his new laptop. :-)” _

 

Castiel felt a rush of warmth at the texts. He couldn’t think of anything he’d like more, actually. 

 

_ “That would be wonderful Dean. Yes, please.” _

 

_ “Sweet. See u then!” _

 

_ “PS Sammy says ur going down! :-)” _

 

Castiel smirked to himself. “Not in a decade, Sam,” he muttered, “and you’re not my type.” Castiel picked up the first lady on the counter and tilted her gently onto her side, humming to himself. As he gently pulled her out of the pot and separated her roots a bit - whoah, he should have done this one sooner - he wondered if he could surprise the guys by making a pie.  

 

He carefully did not think about what his type was, and how he no longer conjured faceless men from his gym, muscular and lean, to be abstractly aroused by arms or backs or thighs or stomachs. How all he could ever picture now was acres of smooth skin covered in freckles, not cut like the guys at the gym, but strong like a man who worked with his hands. 

 

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d fellated anyone; it was all a distant blur of doing anything and everything he was asked without ever finding the point of any of it. He had never in his life fantasized about going down on someone, but if he did, if he were to have a type… he shook his head, refusing to picture a face, he mustn’t, it was disrespectful and wrong... and would have freckled cheeks, soft lips parted in pleasure, gentle green eyes with wide dark pupils and long, sweeping lashes watching him slide spit-slick lips and tongue slowly down the length of his cock…

 

Castiel shuddered involuntarily and forced himself to return his attention to the task at hand, adding fresh mix to the larger pot from the bag of fancy orchid potting mix and gently arranging his lady in her new home. She looked happier already, and he watered her gently and set her in the kitchen sink to drain, ready to relax in the shade for a few days while she got settled in.

 

 


	37. New Year's Eve

Castiel worked on Friday, two days after Christmas, alone in the office. Everyone else had families that needed visiting but he didn’t mind, he was used to solitude and he got a ton of work done. He spent his weekend alone, catching up on a couple cooking shows he’d been recording on his fancy new TiVo device - a Christmas gift to himself - and running several hours each day until he was exhausted, mostly just counting down time until New Years Eve, which he was looking forward to for the first time in many years. Even before the PTSD he hadn’t had anywhere in particular to go, it was just a midweek disruption in his work flow most years. But not this year. This year he had plans.

 

Only Anna came in to work on Monday, everyone else including Dean had made a long week of it, so he and Anna went out to lunch and had a lively debate over the merits of Camel Case versus Pascal Case, Castiel favoring all capitals or no capitals, and Anna firmly on team the-first-word-should-be-lowercase! They could not come to agreement, grinning at each other in mock fury, and when they walked back to work, Anna linked arms with Castiel and he humored her by escorted her back to her cubicle and pulling her chair out for her like a gentleman.

 

“How’s Dean?” she asked casually, as she sat down in her chair with a flourish.

 

“I’m not sure, though I imagine he’s fine. He’s in Sioux Falls with his family or driving back by now.”

 

“Oh!” Anna looked surprised to hear this. “Didn’t you see him over Christmas break?”

 

“No. Why would I?” Castiel was puzzled, but also wistful. He had in fact thought about Dean a lot over the Christmas break.

 

“No reason I guess,” Anna answered, “I guess I thought you’d probably find time to hang out, that’s all.”

 

“I’ll see him on New Year’s Eve…” Castiel offered, not sure if that would satisfy her. It did.

 

“Oh, cool!” Anna perked up. “Are you going to a party? Can I come?”

 

Castiel didn’t know how to answer. He missed his friends so much it hadn’t occurred to him to share them. “It’s not a party, we were just going to hang out and play games…”  this approach was probably not a good one, he realized, as Anna’s eyes lit up and she wheedled “Cassssssss you know I I looove gaaaames.”

 

“I’ll set up a group game night another time Anna, I promise,” Castiel apologized. “This one was just gonna be me and… the Winchesters,” he finished. He belatedly realized this might be poor phrasing as well, because Anna’s eyes lit up again in a new way.

 

“Just an intimate evening for the  _ delicious _ three of you? What kiiiind of games?”

 

“We’re all just friends Anna.” Castiel sighed as her face refused to stop leering. “Seriously.”

 

Anna grinned and dropped her wide-eyed eyebrow waggling. “I know Cas, I’m just teasing. I’m glad you’re friends and I’m glad you’re going to hang out on New Year’s, but you  _ know  _ I love games and I insist you include me next time. And Ash. And Garth. And Jesse if he can come. I’ll crush EVERYONE.” She made an evil cackling noise, grinning wildly. “How many chairs have you got?”

 

Castiel laughed, and his heart filled with such a rush of fondness he dared to lean down and kiss the top of Anna’s head. “I’ve got a couple more in my office I can bring down. And there’s always the couch.”

 

“Yesssssss” Anna intoned, and Castiel laughed as he headed back to his desk to wrangle code into submission.

 

*** 

 

Castiel stared at his new orchid, currently soaking in the wan December sunset in his garden, perched on the stone bench where he’d set her to wait until she told him where she’d like to settle in. She was gorgeous in every kind of light, but especially this light, tipped in pink and wrapping the edges of her dark blossoms in a backlit glow that made them suck in the light from around themselves, becoming almost a velvet shadow, mysterious and beckoning. He couldn’t decide who to set her beside; she seemed to make everything around her pale in comparison, and he didn’t want to do any of his other ladies such a disservice.

 

He dared to caress a leaf, stroking it from the center to the tip, and wondered again what her name might be. This was different, important - after all, she was a gift from Dean - and he had already considered and rejected the names of a dozen poets out of hand as not lovely enough to grace her beauty. Castiel considered the word ‘beauty’ - Black Beauty, maybe? The book had given him great comfort when he was a boy, words he had clung to, but he wasn’t going to literally name her after a horse. Anna Sewell? No, he didn’t want Dean to think he’d named her after their Anna, especially, somehow, considering the thing he knew about their first meeting that Dean didn’t know he knew. 

 

Castiel shook his head at himself.  _ That shouldn’t matter _ . He successfully pushed away the tendrils of jealousy souring the pit of his stomach as he caressed his new Lady and she gently soothed him…  _ Oh.  _ Of course Dean had been attracted to her, stepping out of his gleaming Baby and into the kaleidoscope of color that was Frank’s greenhouse. Of  _ course  _ he had been drawn to her nearly black blooms, gleaming in the corner where Frank kept his rarities. Frank had surely tried to kick Dean out immediately - Castiel grinned to himself, he should visit Frank soon, it had been too long - but Dean had somehow gotten Frank on board,  _ for him _ , and then he had somehow managed to part Frank from  _ his  _ Baby.

 

_ I should name her after Dean’s Baby.  _ Castiel’s skin prickled at the perfection of it, and he wished all his ladies goodnight and raked the stones smooth to race upstairs. He grabbed a beer and made his way upstairs to nurse it while doing his research, jotting down the translation of  _ baby _ into all the languages he could think of offhand, checking more on his laptop, but none suited, and he tapped his finger on his notebook, frustrated.  

 

_ Dean doesn’t mean infant. He means an endearment, as one would call a lover. _

 

Oh.  _ OH. _ Castiel continued his search with renewed vigor, and when it came to him, his face split into an enormous smile as chills raced up and down his arms. He made his way out to the garage to inscribe her genus and species on a fresh copper tag in his careful hand, and then he stepped out to his garden to present it to her in the moonlight; kneeling on the gravel beside her to attach the wire, and to whisper her new given name to her in the dark.

  
  


***

 

On Tuesday the morning of New Year’s Eve, Castiel was basically counting down the minutes until he would get to see his friends again. He took the day off - no one was going to be at work to notice - and elected to clean his house in preparation for the Winchester’s visiting rather than his original plan of masturbating half the day. Both wore him out, which was the end goal, however, he assured himself, snickering as he scrubbed the downstairs toilet, only one made him a marginally more gracious host. The other made the house presentable. 

 

Cleaning took longer than it used to before he entertained guests so frequently - Dean winning the argument that cooking barefoot was dangerous and Castiel subsequently allowing shoes inside took an undeniable toll - but Castiel couldn’t bring himself to resent even a single grain of sand as he swept and vacuumed. He showered when he was finished, changed into jeans and a sky blue button down that he thought looked good on him, and headed to the kitchen to pull on a bright white apron that still had the tags on to try his hand at pastry.

 

Castiel cut his carefully peeled apples into wedges, carved the core bits out, and stirred them with cinnamon and sugar in a bowl as he carefully read the instructions for a third time. He had watched Dean do this exact thing, how hard could it be? He cut cold butter into the flour with two knives, used the correct amount of ice water, but the pie crust was too sticky. He added flour until it was too stiff, then a little more water, alternating until it looked more like Dean’s had, then reverently rolled it out into a circle with Dean's rolling pin and pressed it into a greased pie tin. He poured the apples in but some sugared apple juice got on the edges of the bottom crust and he had a hard time getting the top crust to stick down.  His pie didn’t look as good as Dean’s had but he got it into the oven at the correct temperature and got out the mineral oil to touch up Dean’s rolling pin while he settled in to wait.

 

After about thirty-five minutes the kitchen filled with smoke as the pie bubbled over and the juice hit the bottom of the oven and charred. Castiel pulled the batteries out of the piercing smoke alarm and opened the windows. The pie wasn’t done yet; he couldn’t take it out of the oven. At about an hour the pie looked closer to golden brown, so he pulled it out and set it on the stovetop to cool, turning off the oven and coughing while he waited for the smoke to clear.

 

At seven Castiel started to get a little impatient and a little hungry but he didn’t touch the pie, instead he ate some of the crackers and cheese he’d laid out and put them in the fridge so the cheese would stop wilting.

 

By eight Castiel started to worry the guys had changed their mind. He was also getting hungry enough to be snappish. At nine he opened the fridge to root around for leftovers, disappointment hanging heavily around his heart. He was sullenly deciding between old pizza or old Thai food when he heard Baby growl up outside and he tried valiantly to rally his mood. They hadn’t actually set a time and the guys were not technically late, he had just been expecting them earlier.

 

He opened the front door when the knock came, to find a pair of disheveled, exhausted looking Winchesters on his doorstep, bearing a green cooler and armloads of plastic bags containing paper carry-out boxes, the scent of soy sauce and hot fried oil and frankly a bit of armpit thick on the doorstep.

 

“I’m so sorry Cas -” Dean began, but Castiel was so glad to see them he felt giddy, his foul mood forgotten.

 

“Come in, Come in” Castiel urged them, grabbing the cooler from Sam to set it down on the kitchen table as Sam and Dean managed to haul the rest of their burdens through the door and onto the kitchen counter without dropping anything.

 

“We hit a snowstorm,” Dean continued by way of explanation, prying plastic bag handles from whitened fingers where they were cutting off his circulation. “Didn’t want to let you down, drove straight through but it cost us something like twelve extra hours.” Dean’s nose wrinkled in distaste as he caught a whiff of himself. “God, I reek. I hate to impose but can I use a washcloth and some soap Cas?”

 

Castiel waved Dean towards the downstairs bathroom “Use a towel Dean, take a shower if you like. Do you need to borrow some clothes?” Dean’s tired face lit up hopefully. 

 

“Oh god that would be amazing, you don’t mind? I’ll be super quick!”

 

Sam cut in, grinning “You’re doing us all a huge favor Cas.” 

 

Dean punched Sam in the arm. “You stink too.”

 

“Not as bad as you. I showered in the fleabag Monday while you were sleeping.”

 

Castiel broke away from watching the brothers argue to race upstairs to grab Dean a towel, a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. It felt really weird to offer Dean underwear but he grabbed a pair of clean boxer briefs and added them to the stack, making it downstairs in time to see both boys notice the pie, Dean bending down inches from the crust to sniff it. 

 

“Apple?” Dean breathed hopefully up at Castiel, and Castiel nodded, beaming at him and handing him the stack of laundry plus a bottle of shampoo. Dean’s eyes lit up and he took the armload gratefully, muttered “five minutes, promise,” and disappeared into the bathroom.

 

Dean was gone ten, but he looked so much happier - and smelled so much better - when he came out of the bathroom, it was worth it. Sam and Castiel had managed to lay out all of the Chinese food buffet style on the kitchen table, the cooler now moved to the floor, and had plates and silverware and serving spoons and beer ready. Castiel elected to open his bottle of wine even though it would absolutely not pair well with the meal, and three men sank down into kitchen chairs to devour their collective weight in greasy Americanized Chinese food. It was delicious, and for a long while there was no sound beyond silverware and chewing.

 

Eventually neither Dean nor Castiel could move and they leaned back to smile at each other and watch Sam continue to eat. 

 

“Did you sleep last night?” Castiel asked, curious as to what “drove straight through” meant to a Winchester.

 

Sam nodded yes as Dean shook his head no.  “I drove, Sam slept,” Dean clarified, since his mouth was not currently full. 

 

“It was bad,” Sam added around a mouthful of food. “Dean drove for eighteen hours straight. His turn should have been six.” 

 

Dean shrugged like it was no big deal. Sam swallowed and spoke to Dean directly, a bit more clearly without a mouthful of food, “You should have let me do another leg.”

 

“You were exhausted.”

  
“So were you!”

 

“I’m better at snow.” Dean’s tone said the argument was over, and Sam fell silent, chastened, but he didn’t let it stop him from piling more food on his plate.

 

Castiel stared at Sam’s plate in awe, but his thoughts were swirling. They hadn’t wanted to disappoint him so badly Dean had driven through a snowstorm an entire day without sleeping. He didn’t know how he  _ should _ feel, but how he actually felt was soft and warm and a little like crying. He looked at Dean, who was watching him carefully, and he smiled softly. “You shouldn’t have done that -” Dean’s face started to fall until Castiel continued quickly, “but I’m really glad you made it.  Really glad,” he repeated, smiling fondly at Dean, and Dean nodded and smiled back, satisfied. 

 

“Me too,” Dean said softly. “Oh!” he leapt up, groaning momentarily over the pain of his full stomach as he bent over the green cooler. “Brought you something!”

 

Castiel did not see it coming and the snowball caught him full in the chest.

 

“OH!” Castiel exclaimed, “You bastard!” Castiel was ducking and scooping slush off the floor as Dean laughed, a tumbling cascade of such pure joy that it almost,  _ almost _ hurt Castiel to see it end in a shout as the repacked, smaller slushball hit Dean square in the forehead.

 

“Holy Shit, Cas,” Sam crowed, his mouth  _ still _ full, “nice shot!”  Dean reached back into the cooler with gusto, but Castiel threw both his hands in the air in surrender.

 

“Dean!” he begged, laughing, “Dean, I just cleaned, please!  I propose a rematch at a later date. At your place.”

 

Dean accepted these terms, laughing, and pulled a couple more beers out of the cooler instead of another snowball. He looked at Castiel, a question on his face, but Castiel shook his head and pointed at his wine bottle, smiling. Another round was doled out all around and Dean and Castiel drank slowly as Sam finally slowed and admitted defeat, pushing away his plate with a couple bites’ worth still on it. Castiel had lost count of how many times Sam had refilled it. Castiel raised an eyebrow at Sam, missing Dean’s intake of breath as he did so, to taunt Sam, in a teasing tone, “Quitter.”

 

Sam barked a laugh, delighted, but Dean actually sprayed a mouthful of beer across the table. Castiel had to get up and provide paper towels to deal with the disgusting aftermath, but his smug smile said it was absolutely worth it.  They fell to putting away the rest of the food, closing up the cartons and combining leftovers into foil trays to reduce how many had to fit in the refrigerator. Castiel wiped down the table while the Winchesters dragged their full bellies out to Baby and back to grab their laptops and cables and headsets.

 

Sam brought in his brand new Christmas present and Castiel made all the appropriate Oohing and Ahhing noises as Sam rattled off her specs, while Dean beamed proudly at the surprise he and Bobby had pulled off. Sam set her up to start downloading Counter Strike, setting up his old machine in the meanwhile to square off against Dean and Castiel’s machines in an epic three-way battle for ostensibly a flag but largely for shitting-on-each-other rights.

 

The trash talk grew thick and heated and Castiel was utterly content, until amateur fireworks started sputtering in the street outside and he jumped, his heart racing, and had to pull off the headset to tell what was real and what was game, shutting his eyes and breathing to calm himself. 

 

When Castiel opened his eyes, calm for the moment, Dean was watching him in concern, but Sam was staring at him in consternation and complete confusion. Castiel’s chest felt tight to realize Dean had never said a word to Sam and he looked to Dean with gratitude on his face. Dean nodded almost imperceptibly and Castiel nodded back before turning to Sam to explain. “I am a veteran, Sam, I have what they call post-traumatic stress disorder. Fireworks are... difficult for me and I didn’t take any medication tonight because I wanted to spend the evening with the two of you and the meds render me basically catatonic.” Castiel smiled wanly at Sam and Dean, adding quietly, “I hoped alcohol would be enough to get me through it.” He reached to finish the wine, just sucking the last of it down from the bottle to save time.

 

“Oh, Shit!” Sam exclaimed, concern furrowing his brow, “Do you want to call it a night? Should you take some now?” 

 

“I can’t,” Castiel sighed, “they can’t be combined with alcohol. But I’ll take a beer if you’ve got one.”

 

Dean got Castiel a beer as fast as he could move, practically falling over himself to do so. Castiel took it gratefully, downing half of it one pull. He took a breath, then tilted the rest back, wiping his mouth as he glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall.  

 

“We’ve got about half an hour until the official fireworks start and I may or may not end up in fetal position, twitching and wetting myself,” Castiel sighed, only half kidding. “Pie?”

 

The guys looked worried as hell but no Winchester was going to turn down pie under any circumstances. Castiel got out more plates and forks and ice cream and a knife and pie server, and everyone helped themselves and dug in.

 

“I’d have warmed it, but I smoked out the kitchen when it bubbled over,” Castiel explained. “Why is my crust hard and not flaky?”

 

Dean smiled at Castiel around a mouthful of pie. “This is awesome, Cas,” he said. “It’s perfect. You can pour table salt over the charred juice on the bottom of the oven to stop the smoke, I do it all the time.”

 

“Really? I didn’t know that,” Castiel mused, “I’ll remember for next time.” He took another bite and his forehead creased. “It really is hard though,” Castiel complained. “Yours was flaky and soft. What did I do wrong?” 

 

Dean smiled at Castiel softly, shaking his head and refusing to disparage the pie, but Sam took pity on Castiel and answered. “Dean is always going on and on about the perfect pie crust, Cas. You can’t overwork it, he claims, or it loses all its tenderness.”  Sam grinned wickedly, and delivered a passable impression of Dean: “Gotta have a soft touch, Sammy, or she’ll go all hard on you, and I like my pies like I like my women, Sam, without a hard-on.”

 

Dean shook his head as Sam delivered his punchline. Castiel winced slightly instead of laughing, but his face smoothed again in a microsecond, then transitioned to chagrin as he poked at his pie crust with his fork. “I did keep adding more water and flour and stirring it.” 

 

Castiel sighed, and Dean frowned at Sam while assuring Castiel “Cas, any pie I didn't make is my very favorite pie. Thank you for this, it’s delicious.” 

 

Sam’s face fell and he apologized. “Sorry Cas, it’s really good pie, Dean just wasn't going to tell you what to do differently for a flakier crust and I thought you actually wanted to know.”

 

“I do,” Castiel promised, startling and tensing at another nearby volley of street festivities. “Thank you both. I think I may have overestimated my ability to make it through the evening without medication and I need to get my noise cancelling headphones now. The official fireworks are scheduled to begin at 11:59 and last no more than twenty minutes.” he looked at Dean pleadingly, unsure how to ask or what to even ask for.  “Will you… can you stay until they are over? I’m afraid I can’t be a good host any longer but I’m…” There was another nearby bang, this one much closer, and Castiel jumped and tensed again, his hands beginning to tremble. “Please don't go,” he whispered, staring at Dean, his eyes wide in terror.

 

Dean was at Castiel’s side in an instant, a hand on his arm and one on his lower back, guiding him gently to the couch. “I’m here Cas, we’re not going anywhere, you’re going to be fine. Sam, get the headphones, where are they, Cas?”

 

“Upstairs in my bedroom, first door on the left. On the nightstand.” Castiel’s eyes were tightly shut and he was trying to do his breathing exercises but starting to hyperventilate instead. Dean sat Castiel on the couch in the middle so he could sit next to him, never taking his hand from Castiel’s arm so Cas would know he was still there.

 

Sam appeared breathlessly with headphones and Dean looked through the kitchen door at the clock. 11:55. 

 

“Shit,” he hissed, “Sam get my walkman and the Metallica cassette, fast as you can.”

 

Sam hustled as fast as he could, but the first few volleys were whistling into the air, each explosion shaking Castiel’s entire body as Sam and Dean got the headphones on him, blaring music into his unresisting ears but it was too late. The panic was too far gone and he couldn't breathe, a heavy darkness pressing in on his chest and awareness as terror took control of Castiel’s entire being and he folded in on himself, reflexively curling into a ball and then there were strong arms wrapping around his arms and chest from behind, a wall of warmth against his back and a vice holding his chest still, a baritone voice he could feel rumbling through his body over the sound of driving guitar and drums encouraging him to breathe, the vice releasing his chest just enough to let him draw in a breath, squeezing it back out, the steady metronome of a slow, patient heartbeat pulling him slowly back from terror to safety, wrapped in a tight embrace that smelled like soap and soy sauce and cinnamon.

 

***

 

Castiel trembled and hyperventilated in the circle of Dean’s arms. Heavy metal music pounding in his ears did not stop the explosions of the fireworks from shaking his body, but as the darkness slowly receded Castiel focused on the heartbeat at his back, his eyes squeezed shut and his arms now tightly crossed over Dean’s where they wrapped around his chest, his hands over Dean’s hands. He struggled to set his breathing at the pace Dean modeled until his heart slowed to match Dean’s, a pulse of fear speeding his heart with each explosion he could feel, then the breathing and focus slowing it again until the next one strong enough to be felt. After what felt like hours there came a barrage of tremors that must have signaled the city’s Grand Finale. Castiel lost ground then, shaking, his heart racing, but Dean’s patient arms held tight and Castiel clung to him, clawing his way back from the darkness to warmth and safety. The tremors ended but Castiel didn’t stop clinging, and Dean didn’t let go.

 

Castiel lay curled on the couch wrapped in the safety of Dean’s arms, his hands over Dean’s hands, Dean’s body curled around his. He felt safe and warm and utterly content. He didn’t open his eyes, he didn’t touch the headphones when the cassette ended, he just listened to Dean’s heartbeat and his long, slow breaths evening out, becoming longer and deeper, the tightness of Dean’s arms relaxing into a gentle hold as he drifted into sleep. Castiel could hear a keyboard clacking and gentle cursing in the kitchen, Counter Strike must have finished downloading and Sam was taking his new machine for a spin. Castiel knew instinctively that this moment could never be recreated and he never wanted it to end. As the last of his fear adrenaline ebbed, replaced by quiet contentment, he felt a warm fondness spreading through his chest, gratitude, affection for Dean, and something new, something different. 

 

The warmth in Castiel’s chest curled and flowed, continuing through his stomach, changing into something more electric, and pooling as heat low in his groin and belly. The heat of Dean’s body behind him now pulsed along his nerve endings with each of Dean’s slow heartbeats, and to Castiel’s astonishment his body responded with arousal, his cock swelling to press uncomfortably against the seam of his jeans. Arousal coiled around his mind, images and urges tumbling and swirling, desires he had never felt for anyone in his life surging in his mind and in his body. He wanted to touch and taste, wanted to turn in Dean’s arms and press their bodies together, to hold Dean’s face in his hands and press his mouth to Dean’s beautiful lips, explore Dean’s mouth with his tongue, to see Dean’s eyes widen in pleasure at his caress and to feel Dean’s body arching against him as their bodies moved. The warmth in his chest cried out to wrap his arms around Dean and never let go, and he let the feelings flow for this one perfect moment that would never come again, caught in the fierce, completely unfamiliar undertow of desperately wanting, holding Dean’s sleeping arms gently in his hands where they wrapped around his chest and keeping completely still so as not to be discovered. 

 

When the wanting began to hurt, an ache that felt like grieving, Castiel let out the breath he’d been holding and told himself it was enough. He tucked this moment away in his mental folder labeled “perfection,” and set about shutting it all down. Castiel took a deep breath and held it for a count of thirty, blew it out very slowly, did it again. He switched to the four-seven-eight pattern, as quietly as he could so as not to wake Dean, and scolded his body that Sam was in the next room, and Dean was his friend, not his lover.  His body agreed to cool its jets on condition they discuss this later at great length and he reluctantly accepted these blackmail terms.

 

It had to be late, surely well past one, but as Castiel lay nestled in Dean’s arms, his body quieted to just the warmth in his chest, Dean’s chest slowly rising and falling and his breath puffing past Castiel’s neck as he slept, Castiel willfully ignored his hosting duties and relaxed into the embrace. He should get up, check if Sam wanted to stay in the guest room, pull a blanket over Dean and repair to his own bedroom, but he didn’t do any of those things. He stored this feeling in his heart to savor forever, and let the safety and comfort of Dean’s arms lull him into a peaceful, dreamless slumber.

 

 


	38. New Year's Night

Too much heat pulled Dean from a deep, dreamless sleep, slowly dragging him to awareness in stages. He was sweating balls. He was not alone. His right arm felt numb. He was sandwiched between cushions at his back and a firm wall of heat in front of him, spooning someone who burned red hot. Someone large and muscular and definitely not a woman, by the chest under his hands… Oh, Cas! The previous evening’s festivities flooded back to him and he realized he must have fallen asleep holding Cas during the fireworks… no, those had ended and Cas had been okay, his heart had felt slow and steady and he just hadn’t let go yet so Dean hadn’t either and he was so tired he must have drifted off.

 

Dean cracked his eyes open a sliver, but it was still pitch dark. Not even five am yet then. Castiel’s breaths came slow and deep. Dean closed his eyes again and listened to Cas breathe, felt his chest expand and contract, and was overcome with a wave of affection for this man in his arms, so strong yet so vulnerable at the same time. If Dean could save Castiel from his fear, if something so easy to give as wrapping his arms around this man he had come to care about so deeply could keep him safe, he would gladly suffer a numb arm and night sweats for eternity.  

 

Dean drifted in and out of a sweaty doze, refusing to move because then it would be over and he would never again be laying here with Castiel in his arms. Sweaty or not, he couldn’t remember ever feeling more content, and that idle thought wisping through his mind pulled his awareness completely awake, his eyes flying open as he pulled that thought back into focus and inspected it carefully. It shone bright and pure and completely true, flickering like a firefly in the purple light before dawn. He had never felt more content than laying here, dripping in sweat, his right arm completely numb, feeling Castiel breathe against his chest. 

 

Dean spun through his mental Rolodex of nights he had spent in pleasant company. He winnowed his search down to occasions where he had done any cuddling, which he sheepishly admitted to himself, alone in his own head where there were no witnesses but it was  _ still _ hard to admit, was almost his favorite part. Completing his search and comparing his favorites to this moment, even pressing his thumb on the scales of past cuddles by throwing in the sex that came with them, Dean was unable to find a single moment that even came close to the soft contentment of this one, crushed against this couch behind Castiel’s perfect, burning hot body.

 

Dean grabbed at that clusterfuck of thoughts as it wandered past and pinned it down for inspection. He pulled at the thread where this sweaty mess was better than cuddles that  _ came with sex _ and looked for the lie, but he couldn’t find it. He had never felt this burning affection in his chest in any post-sex cuddle. Sure, satisfaction and exhaustion and that post-really-good-sex afterglow, but this felt different. Better. He idly thought about the sex that had come before the post-really-good-sex cuddles and regretted it almost instantly, trapped here between a cushion and a burning hot wall of perfect flesh. 

 

“Perfect.” There was the other word in that clusterfuck that had given him pause, traipsing back through his focus again. Dean’s body was vaguely haunted by the ghost of sex past now, his meandering through memory lane not the greatest idea he’d ever had while cuddling a platonic male friend - which he was pretty sure he’d never actually done before - but he set that aside to consider the nature of perfection as it pertained to Castiel. 

 

Obviously he was a strikingly good-looking man, anyone with eyes would be hard-pressed to disagree. His body was strong and fit, his chest hard as a rock under Dean’s hands, his back a thousand degrees and firmly muscled against Dean’s chest. His perpetual sex hair, his incredibly symmetrical features, those brilliant blue eyes, but… the way he smiled just a little for most things so that you’d have to know him to see it, and the way he only laughed if you could trick it out of him, like laughter was dangerous to give in to, all gums and teeth and joy.  His selflessness, helping Dean take care of Sam without worrying about what it could cost him, just because he wanted to. And the way he made Dean feel when he gave him his full attention. Perfection wasn’t too strong, Dean decided to himself, guiltily nuzzling his nose into the back of Castiel’s hair.

 

He drifted, sweating, thinking about the way it made him feel when Castiel watched him play pool, and that turned out to be a bridge too far. The affection in his chest bloomed into something else; the heat from memory lane still simmered in his blood, but now it focused on the man in his arms, the one he had just admitted to himself was perfect. Dean was wearing Castiel’s sweatpants, precious little armor between himself and the wall of heat in his arms, and he found himself picturing Castiel watching him now. 

 

Instead of shaming him out of arousal, that mental image fanned his flames into an inferno, and to his horror he found himself gasping, his erection pressing insistently against Castiel’s ass. Castiel arched his back against him in his sleep, nestling against his cock with a sigh that bordered on a moan, and Dean held his breath for all he was worth as a powerful wave of desire crested over him, a strong urge to move, to thrust, to do anything at all Castiel wanted him to do if he would only watch him do it, mixed with equal parts terror that Castiel would wake and he would be discovered. Well,  _ son of a bitch _ if this wasn’t an incredibly inconvenient way to learn something new about himself.  Dean silently cursed at his body, but grudgingly allowed if he was gonna discover he could swing both ways, at least his dick had great taste.

 

For what felt like forever, Dean held completely still, holding each breath as long as he could to let it out slowly and pull in another to hold, willing his arousal to stand down. He was used to delayed gratification; he lived in a single room with his brother. Most sexual thoughts had to be clamped down and resuscitated in the longer-than-necessary showers both brothers silently agreed were off-limits for discussion unless someone had a legitimate need to pre-empt the bathroom, in which case a five-minute warning had become the defacto standard. You could finish anything in five minutes, even with an interruption. 

 

Dean rolled his eyes at himself; thinking about Sam banging on the bathroom door had not been his intent but it certainly worked to give him a sense of urgency, the exact opposite of what he was going for. He thought instead of that time he had been alone in the room with his laptop and Sam had come home earlier than anticipated, Sam’s affront at the door being locked, the jingle of keys, slamming his laptop shut to bolt into the bathroom to finish, throwing the shower on for deniability but forgetting a towel, Sam rolling his eyes at him as he finally emerged. Ugh, embarrassing.  That worked to extinguish his fire, and he nodded, satisfied, and returned to cuddling and sweating his balls off, drifting off despite the heat into dreams of flames, coiling around him like tongues, searing him with pain and promises of pleasure just out of reach.

 

 


	39. Let Them Eat Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short week this week, because I am frantically writing a missing chapter I need *really* soon for publication. Or, more accurately, frantically procrastinating it by writing delicious sex off the end AAAUGH. :-D  
> Next week you get 10k of Birthday Party, and then there's this glorious slow dance of discovery and testing waters and then a huge chunk you will get all at once of risk and misunderstanding and pain and rediscovery. Thank you for suffering though the /waiting/ with me. <3 <3 <3

On the third Monday in January, Castiel glanced at the time on his desktop and wondered dejectedly whether he should even bother trying to invite Dean to lunch this week. Dean had been a machine all of January so far; coming in early, leaving late, causing a ton of incidental data entry with his sales -  _ without _ , Castiel noted proudly, any extra coding - but he’d either cried lunch meetings or been working through lunch the last half-dozen times Castiel had asked him, and Castiel was starting to feel a bit rejected.  

 

Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen Dean really relaxed or rested since the lovely New Year’s Day he and Sam and Dean had spent gaming and eating leftover takeout all day, without a single word from anyone about he and Dean waking up in each other’s arms and leaping apart in embarrassment. Castiel would have been perfectly fine with adding New Year’s Day Morning just under Black Friday Morning on his list of things never to mention again, but now he wasn’t sure if Dean was treating him differently one on one - avoiding spending time with him without having Sam nearby, maybe - and he was starting to worry that he might need to find a way to apologize for spending the whole night in Dean’s arms without an explicit invitation to do so. 

 

Castiel knew Dean was in his office - he hadn’t seen him leave all morning - but he stared glumly at his monitor and was just deciding not to ask when he was startled by a knock on his cubicle wall. Castiel looked up hopefully, valiantly managing not to let his face fall as he realized it wasn’t Dean. The HR lady smiled perfunctorily and handed him the obligatory birthday card of the week and a pen, a transaction so familiar it needed no explanation. Castiel sighed and accepted both, but he was surprised to crack the card open and read the name “Dean,” scrawled above the bland well wishes.  

 

He glanced up at the woman, whose name he did not remember. “Dean... Winchester?” 

 

“Yup.” She nodded and leaned forward conspiratorially to whisper, “I shouldn’t say, but he’ll be turning twenty-four this Friday. I think he might be the youngest person we’ve ever had in sales, but he’s not letting it hold him back any,  _ is _ he.”

 

Castiel nodded in agreement as he printed out his name in careful block letters. He didn’t ever sign these things with anything approaching his legal signature, and he certainly wasn’t going to start now, not with a card that was going to be circulated to several dozen more people after himself. He handed the card and the pen back to the woman with a smile, and turned back to his workstation, thinking furiously.

 

He’d guessed twenty-five the day he’d met Dean the better part of a year ago. He’d been off two years in the wrong direction, and the realization was startling, depressing even. Thirteen years difference at best, fourteen half the year. Castiel suddenly felt very old, but he shoved it away, pushed it down, to fish out his phone and text Sam.

 

“ _ Are you doing anything for Dean’s birthday this Friday? _ ”

 

The response came almost immediately.

 

“ _ no WAY he told u. how did u find out? _ ”

 

Castiel winced on Dean’s behalf, thumbed in his response.

 

“ _ HR does cards. Everyone here will know. There will be a cake. _ ”

 

“ _ Oh Shit. he’s going to HATE that. except the cake :-) _ ”

 

Castiel frowned slightly. None of that was an answer. He tried again.

 

“ _ Are we doing our regular dinner? Do you have other plans? Do you want me there? _ ”

 

He waited several minutes, worrying, then sent a followup.

 

“ _ It’s fine if you have family plans, I understand. I just miss you guys. Dean’s been too busy to have lunch with me in weeks. _ ”

 

Castiel pressed send before he could stop himself from being a petulant ass, and he shoved his phone in his pocket in frustration and pulled on his suit coat to head next door for a sandwich. He was in line at the shop before an answer buzzed in, and he pulled it out of his pocket with a fair amount of dread pooling in his stomach to glance at the response.

 

“ _ promise me u won’t say anything 2 Dean _ ”

 

Castiel stared at the text in complete bafflement. If Dean hated surprises, why would Sam plan one? He thumbed in a response, stepping forward automatically as the sandwich line moved ahead by one person.

 

“ _ I promise. _ ”

 

The response came immediately. Sam must have had it typed out and been dithering over whether to send it.

 

“ _ Dean’s not 2 busy Cas, he’s been feeling like shit turning u down. We r flat broke. School fees were due the 6th & totally wiped us out _ ” 

 

Castiel gaped down at his phone in dismay as the next several messages rapidly followed the first.

 

“ _ we’ve been buying my books @ paycheck & photocopying ahead on w I’m still missing” _

_ “soooo sick of rice & beans” _

 

_ “PLEASE don’t tell Dean I told u he will kill me”  _

 

_ “Cas pls still let us do dinner it’s the only good thing we’ll get 2 eat all week we chose gas $ 4 Fri instead of meat again FUUUCK u can’t tell Dean I told u” _

 

Castiel looked up in dismay as the sandwich shop cashier pointedly cleared her throat. He’d missed the cue to step forward, twice, and it was definitely his turn.  He stepped up apologetically and ordered two sandwiches, one his usual, another exactly the same but with extra pickles. The cashier asked three times if he was absolutely certain, and he smiled and assured her he was, “Just please don’t let the pickles touch the sandwich without pickles.” That made more sense, and she grinned at him and hollered the instructions down the line as she handed him his change.

 

Castiel thumbed in his response while he waited for his sandwiches.

 

“ _ You have my word I won’t tell Dean. I want to take you both out on Friday for cheeseburgers and I WILL find a way to make it happen. :-)  _ “

 

The response came in as he was accepting the pair of bags with sandwiches and cokes and chips inside, and he set the bags down on one of the small formica booth tables in the shop and actually sat down to read the text, and to prepare a misdirect that was not a lie, since Dean had seen right through him the one time he’d tried to lie, but even beyond that, he didn’t like how he felt when he wasn’t honest with Dean. 

 

“ _ good luck & thank uuuuu :-) _ ”

 

Castiel smiled fleetingly at the text, his face returning to frowning as he reexamined the last several weeks of Dean’s behavior in light of this new information. 

 

Dean, shaking his head at yet another of Castiel’s lunch invitations with an apologetic smile, a tupperware container of something black and white next to him on his desk. Dean, nursing a terrible domestic beer - the one that was still on dollar draft for a  _ reason _ ; even the college kids wouldn’t drink it - for an entire hour at last Thursday’s pool night, and not ordering another before heading out to pick up Sam. Dean’s face lighting up when Castiel had insisted on sending the boys home with the entirety of their Friday night meal leftovers for the last couple weeks, since they’d really seemed to enjoy how the meals had turned out. 

 

_ Oh god. _

 

His friends were  _ hungry _ .

 

Castiel’s chest hurt.  _ Pull yourself together. You promised Sam. _ He took a deep breath, stood up to collect the sandwich bags, and made the return trip to work, stepping past his cubicle without pausing, to knock on Dean’s office door with a truth ready on his lips.

 

Dean just hollered “Come in, it’s open!” so Castiel let himself in, crossed the room to drop the bags on Dean’s desk, peeled off his suit coat to sling it over one of Dean’s hangers next to Dean’s without waiting for an invitation to stay. Castiel sank into the chair that he now thought of as his beside Dean’s desk, reached into the non-pickle bag and pulled out his sandwich. He unwrapped it and decisively bit the end off it, chewing smugly while Dean stared at him in surprise.

 

Castiel waved at the other bag. “They put pickles on it,” he offered by way of explanation, “so I figured add a coke and chips and I could make you eat it.”  There was nothing about the statement that wasn’t true, and Castiel met Dean’s suspicious gaze with confident eye contact as Dean studied his face, until Dean nodded, pleased.

 

“Sweet! Thanks, Cas!” 

 

Castiel shrugged, nodded affably. “You’re welcome.”

 

They chewed in companionable silence for a while, until Castiel was down to just his chips, then he looked at Dean and raised an eyebrow, crunching and pensive.

 

“How do you feel about surprises, Dean?”

 

Dean’s face went from panicked to scowling to panicked again before he answered, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Hate ‘em, Cas, just plain  _ hate _ ‘em.  _ Why? _ ”

 

“See, I thought that might be the case, so I will do you the courtesy of spoiling the surprise.”

 

Dean’s face went directly to alarmed, without passing go  _ or  _ collecting two hundred dollars, and Castiel grinned at him soothingly. “Calm down, it’s not that bad. HR came around with a birthday card for you this morning.”

 

“ _ Oh fuck _ \- who knows?”

 

“Everyone in the building. There will be a cake, Dean, in the conference room. They do it to everyone, no exceptions.”

 

Dean’s utter horror was somewhat mitigated by the mention of cake. “What kind of cake?” he asked, finally.

 

Castiel laughed out loud at that, grinning at Dean’s wary but hopeful face. “It’s always vanilla sheet cake, with horribly sweet frosting and some sort of viscous pudding layer in the center and some variation on your first name misspelled across it in gooey neon gel - “ Castiel gave up, his distaste at every aspect of the cake only filling Dean with unseemly delight.

 

“They’ll offer you any leftovers,” he remarked, just to see Dean’s face light up.  “Haven’t you attended a single ritual sheet cake sacrifice since you’ve been here?” 

 

Dean shook his head. “Nope. Never was in the office for one.” He grinned at Castiel conspiratorially. “I’ll muster up the strength to get through it. And you  _ will _ accept a piece, and you  _ will _ hand it to me immediately, capice?”

 

Castiel beamed, nodding. “You got it, Birthday Boy.” His expression grew a little guarded and he went for broke.  “I don’t want you to cook for me on your Birthday, Dean.” Castiel held his hand out in supplication, rushing to finish the thought as Dean’s face traveled from dreamy over cake to crestfallen in milliseconds flat  “- No, no, I still want to do dinner -  _  I wouldn’t miss it for the world _ \- but I want to -“ Castiel hesitated as Dean’s face slammed straight into stubborn refusal, and he had an idea,  “- make the dinner.  _ Please, _ Dean, let me do that. It’s your birthday.” 

 

Castiel’s puppy eyes weren’t as good as Sam’s, but they were still pretty good, and Dean stared at him for a long minute, trying to figure out how to say no, before giving up. He was pretty sure Cas had been going to invite them out and no way he could deal with being a charity case when he couldn’t repay the favor anytime soon, but just asking to be the one in charge of the cooking was different. Cas was already paying for dinner on Fridays, and he already played sous-chef every week anyway. They could switch it up without really changing much... Dean grinned as Castiel’s face lit up in success. He hadn’t even said yes yet; his face must have said it for him.

 

“Okay, Cas,” he agreed, smiling. “You can be in charge of dinner. But only ‘cause you asked so nice. I  _ like _ bossing you around.”

 

Castiel snorted and shook his head while Dean looked smugly pleased with himself, then he shot Dean an eyebrow that made Dean’s mouth go dry while he balled up his sandwich wrapper and tossed it expertly into Dean’s wastebasket. 

 

“That’s why I allow it, Dean,” Castiel purred, standing up to stretch and collect his suit coat, slipping into it while he watched Dean gape up at him, his cheeks coloring a lovely shade of pink, until Dean couldn’t hold the eye contact any longer and his eyes dropped to his hands. The tips of his ears were pink, too, and Castiel nodded his approval, grinning wickedly. Dean felt him and he dared to look up again, his face breaking into a huge grin at Castiel’s expression. A silence stretched between them, grinning at each other in delight, their eyes dancing. 

 

“Thanks for lunch,” Dean murmured at last, and Castiel blinked, his eyes closing almost in slow motion, his face so soft for a fraction of a second Dean couldn’t be sure he hadn’t imagined it when Castiel’s eyes opened again, his face blank, and he whispered, “My pleasure, Dean.”

 

Castiel spun abruptly on his heel and he was gone, and Dean stared after him for a long moment before realizing he had inadvertently given Castiel permission to make his birthday dinner a  _ surprise _ , and he was suddenly one hundred percent certain the scoundrel would drop no hints  _ whatsoever _ until he and Sam arrived at his door on Friday evening. He shook his head, marvelling, before polishing off the last of his bag of chips in silent gratitude they were neither rice nor beans, painstakingly wiping his fingers on a napkin and  _ not _ his suit trousers, before returning to glaring at his meeting followup emails,  _ willing _ them to make him money  _ faster _ .

  
  


***

  
  


Castiel sank into his chair equal parts elated to have found a way to trick the Winchesters into accepting copious quantities of leftovers, and intimidated by the daunting task of figuring out how to make cheeseburgers and french fries at home. He pulled out his phone to text Sam the results of his attempt and to ask a question.

 

“ _ Dean was definitely going to say no, so I asked if I could make dinner instead and he said yes. _ ”

 

“ _ Please don’t tell him what I’m making I want it to be a surprise. Yes, even though I know Dean hates surprises; he said yes so I think it’s alright.” _

 

_ “How do you and Dean like your burgers done? _ ”

 

The answer, when it came, made Castiel smile ear to ear.

 

“ _ Holy Shit I did not think u would ever get a yes good job Cas! I will eat any burger except rare, but medium is Dean’s favorite OMG I can’t WAIT _ ”

 

Castiel’s brain supplied an avalanche of followup questions, but as he reviewed the exact conversation he’d just had with Dean, he had the delicious realization that he had made no promises that he would be the one to make  _ dessert _ , so he settled on asking just the one question so he could surprise Sam with most of the details as well.

 

“ _ What kind of cake does Dean prefer? _ ”

 

That answer, when it came, made Castiel smile so hard his chest hurt.

 

“ _ WHAT NO WAY OMG OK Dean likes all cake but if 2+ kinds he tries them all & then always eats more chocolate & he likes choc frosting best OMG CAN’T WAIT CAS :D _ ” 

 

Castiel had another idea, and he misused quite a lot of his afternoon researching on the internet and making surreptitious phone calls. He didn’t feel one iota of guilt about it, either; Lord knew the company owed him a little slacking off for a change, especially if it meant giving their star salesman a happy birthday.

 

 


	40. Birthday Week

On Tuesday, someone just happened to leave several dozen donuts in the breakroom, and Castiel made sure to grab a couple Boston cream ones for Sam - his favorite, he remembered from Thanksgiving - to wrap them in napkins, popping by Dean’s office to deliver them and incidentally clue Dean in to the largesse of free donuts. Castiel was preoccupied with research and he did not linger to chat, nor did he try to invite Dean to lunch, taking an off-campus lunch himself to drive to a nearby kitchen store and make several purchases.

 

Castiel stopped by his Trader Joe’s on the way home to buy five pounds of ground beef, which he took home directly. Despite the plastic patty shaper turning out completely uniform patties and the thermometer and the timer and the new frying pan, he found himself completely incapable of producing a medium burger.  They were either rare or medium well, no matter what he tried. He gave up in frustration an hour past his usual bedtime, bagged and froze the experiments in a ziploc bag to send home with Sam and Dean as casualties of war, and decided if he couldn’t figure that part out when he came back to it after the other practice runs he had planned, he’d let Dean handle just the frying the patties part.

 

***

 

Wednesday morning, Castiel stubbornly insisted on ordering pizza for the eleven o’clock software team powwow, refusing to be dissuaded or to accept contributions and asking only for topping preferences. He ordered four pizzas for five people, including a meat lover’s, and when even Ash’s most valiant efforts only managed to get through the better part of two of the pizzas, he smirked, called them lightweights, and called in the cavalry with a text. 

 

Dean was delighted to help, willing even to accept the leftovers mashed into one box that did not fit into the fridge, because they were “smelling up the breakroom.” Dean was not suspicious - he had no idea Castiel had paid for all of it -  but Anna was, and she waited until they went back to their cubicles to corner Castiel and narrow her eyes at him.

 

“What are you doing, Cas?” she asked quietly.

 

Castiel’s eyes begged her not to press him, and staring up at his agonized face, she relented.

 

“I won’t make you lie, Cas,” she whispered. “But if Dean needs help, I want to help, okay?”

 

Castiel nodded, eyes wide.

 

“It’s his birthday this week,” Castiel reminded her. “Early gifts of food - or alcohol -  would probably be appreciated.  _ Please _ don’t say anything.”

 

“Okay. I‘m on it, and I promise, Cas. You know I do.”

 

Castiel nodded gratefully, wrapped his arms around her when she threw hers around him to squeeze, hard, before repairing to their separate cubicles.

 

Wednesday evening, Castiel stopped by his favorite Trader Joe’s and bought the largest container of canola oil they had on the premises, as well as the most perfect bags of potatoes, sweet potatoes, and onions available. He bought milk, flour, panko breadcrumbs and a basketful of sacrificial vegetables he intended to experiment with while he was at it. He got home stressed out and tense, shoved everything in the fridge and went for a run, returning home with renewed vigor to shower and set up the new contraption, and he used up all of his paper towels experimenting with frying things in hot oil. 

 

These experiments were much more encouraging than the burger ones had been - time plus temperature plus volume yielded the same results each time - and he shoved everything he hadn’t eaten in bags in the fridge this time, not really sure how well deep fried anything would freeze, and it was only a day, now, before the boys would be here to take any leftovers home.

 

Castiel collapsed into bed very nearly too exhausted to masturbate, but he rallied valiantly so he’d be less snappish tomorrow; no sense in punishing his friends because he wasn’t taking care of business at home.

  
  


***

 

On Thursday morning there were mysterious doughnuts in the breakroom again, but Castiel didn’t need to say anything because it was Dean who brought him one in a napkin, rapping at the side of Castiel’s cubicle with a grin and a question on his face. Castiel accepted the plain one graciously, unconsciously backpedaling away from Dean as he leaned companionably on the side of Castiel’s desk and bit into the powdered one in the other napkin, until there was nowhere left to go and Castiel was trapped warily against the side of his cubicle.

 

Dean grinned at him, sugar on his lips, and managed to inhale the rest of his doughnut without getting more than a few white spots on the carpet, licking the rest off his lips and fingers before either of them even needed to speak.

 

Castiel took a sip from his ever-present coffee cup, shrugging and offering Dean a sip since he was technically the host of this six by eight space, but Dean waved his hand no thanks, turning up his nose at Castiel’s overly sweet coffee.

 

“Did you tell Anna it’s my birthday tomorrow?” Dean accused, by way of good morning, and Castiel shrugged and grinned up at him. 

 

“Maybe,” Castiel parried smoothly. ”Everyone knows it’s this week because of the card anyway, so I didn’t think you’d mind. Why?”

 

Dean shook his head, grinning. “Because, Cas, she arrived at my office this morning with a styrofoam cooler of ‘Artisanal Bacon’. I didn’t even know there was such a thing as ‘Artisanal Bacon’, Cas.” 

 

Castiel’s face split into a delighted smile as Dean continued without pausing, Castiel’s smile growing wider with every accusation Dean levied. 

 

“She was hopping mad that no one would deliver a Bacon-of-the-Month subscription to my address, which I don’t remember giving her, by the way, and she declared I was just going to have to eat it all right now, and then she said ‘Happy Birthday,  _ you wee lil baby you,’  _ and she shoved the cooler into my arms and  _ laughed her way out the door _ , Cas.  _ Literal _ ‘MUAHAHA’ noises, Cas.”

 

Dean’s mouth finally seemed done talking, but his face kept going, raising an eyebrow and demanding “ _ is this YOUR FAULT _ ?”

 

Castiel laughed out loud, his hands raising in surrender as Dean mock glowered at him.

 

“Dean. You cannot blame me for anything Anna does, she is her own woman.”  Dean rolled his eyes in theatrical defeat on  _ that  _ point, but his face demanded, “ _ and the REST?” _ and Castiel continued, ticking the points off on his fingers one by one. 

 

“One, there is ‘Artisanal’  _ everything. _ Add the word ‘Artisanal’ and one other adjective to your marketing and you can charge twenty percent more, minimum.” 

 

Dean nodded reluctant agreement, that sounded like California for sure.

 

“Two, I didn’t give Anna your address but I assume you gave it to HR, and Anna is…  _ resourceful.” _

 

That got a grin and a theatrical eyeroll from Dean, but there was no arguing that point, either.  Both men knew that if Anna wanted something, she would  _ find a way _ .

 

“And three, the woman from HR, whose name escapes me - you know the one, blonde, forties - she has  _ very  _ loose lips, Dean. She told me your age without my asking. I assume she told at least half the people who signed your card.”

 

Dean groaned, grimacing in pain. He ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath, blew it out slowly. His face said he  _ guessed  _ Castiel was forgiven then, even though Castiel had not actually been at fault in the first place, and they grinned at each other in fond detente.

 

“Alrighty then,” Dean sighed, slapping his thigh and heaving himself off the end of Castiel’s desk.  “I gotta go steal the rest of those doughnuts I didn’t already grab; Sam and I are trying out doughnut BLTs tonight when I get home, after you and I hang out at  _ Sugar Tonight _ .”

 

The gagging noise Castiel made was not entirely fake, and he covered his mouth as he breathed, in horror, “With  _ mayonnaise?” _

 

Dean grinned. “Don’t need mayo when it’s a Boston Creme!”

 

Castiel really did look sick then and Dean punched him lightly in the arm, added, “Don’t worry Cas, there’s no L or T either, but I think it’s actually going to be pretty good. I’m gonna slice the plain ones sideways and toast them, then sandwich crispy bacon in there. Seriously. I think people would pay to eat that.”

 

Castiel pointed at the door to his cubicle imperiously, his other hand still over his mouth, and Dean straight up  _ giggled  _ as he departed, Castiel’s hand lowering when Dean was safely gone to reveal a soft smile.  _ Good. Not ideal by any stretch, but not beans and rice; that’s the important thing. _

 

Castiel texted Anna a less-than-three and a smiley face emoticon.

 

The smiley face he received in return mirrored the real one on his face, and it remained there, without Castiel realizing it, for most of the morning.

  
  


***

 

Dean’s mind was not on his game tonight; his heart just wasn’t in it. He was itching to get home and fry up the bacon in the cooler to surprise Sam, and if he was going to be completely honest with himself, Castiel’s attention just wasn’t making him feel like it usually did. Cas had barely looked up in time to catch his last winning shot and he’d  _ felt  _ Cas’s attention slip over him to check the clock before slipping back to smile at him distractedly.  

 

Dean accepted another ‘Happy Birthday Beer’ from Ash with a gracious smile, but he relinquished his pool cue to the wall bracket and joined the software crew at their table instead of accepting another challenge, pulling up a chair beside Castiel, who turned to him with a smile and offered him a cheers with his beer glass. Dean mirrored him with an answering smile, clinking their glasses gently together and both of them taking a pull before Castiel even noticed that a new game had started at the table without Dean.

 

Dean watched his face carefully but Castiel didn’t seem disappointed, he just started to check the clock again, catching himself guiltily when Dean leaned over to murmur into his ear.

 

“Cas, do you mind if I call it early tonight? I’m dying to surprise Sam with the bacon.”

 

Castiel actually looked relieved, which stung a bit until he leaned in to Dean and whispered back, “I didn’t know how to ask after you’ve been so careful to make time for me on Thursday nights since… you know... but I’m desperate to get home as well, Dean.” Castiel grinned sheepishly, his face going theatrically secretive. “I’m working on something for tomorrow.”

 

Dean’s disappointment in Castiel’s preoccupation tonight melted away under a pooling warmth in his chest. Cas was busy worrying about cooking  _ him  _ dinner tomorrow. Dean’s hand reflexively reached out to soothe, his fingers on Castiel’s forearm barely touching but immediately drawing both their attention anyway as Dean assured him, “I’m gonna  _ help,  _ Cas, don’t stress out or anything...”

 

Castiel’s slightly manic grin widened as his eyes traveled back up to Dean’s face. “Too late!” he declared cheerfully, “But I  _ will _ need your help on certain aspects that are proving beyond me.” His lips clamped shut and he wouldn’t say another word, despite Dean’s gently teasing puppy eyes, and they made their goodbyes and walked out of the bar into the sprinkling rain with Dean still wheedling teasingly and Castiel shaking his head and refusing to let slip a single hint. They paused at Baby, dazzling under a thousand glittering raindrops, reflecting the streetlights like jewels, and Castiel hesitated, his fingers absently caressing her hood.

 

“Can you come a little earlier tomorrow?”

 

Dean tore his eyes away from watching Castiel’s fingers pet his Baby to look at Castiel’s face, hopeful and uncertain. “Sure, as soon as Sam gets out of class. I didn’t schedule any meetings for after lunch tomorrow, figured I’ve been working hard enough this month.” He concentrated on Castiel’s face, working overtime to ignore the way the motion of Cas’s fingers tracing Baby’s curves gave him inexplicable chills.

 

“Could you get to my place at around five?” Castiel’s fingers stilled while he studied Dean’s face, but the hair on the back of Dean’s neck was taking its sweet time to lay back down and he rubbed at it absently with one hand while he thought about his answer.

 

“I... think so? Sam’s last class on Fridays lets out at three and then he studies until I pick him up.” Dean grinned. “I’ll tell him to cancel any study dates, by right of it’s my Birthday.”

 

“That’s the spirit,” Castiel enthused, beaming. “I used to make my brothers do  _ all  _ my chores - “ He sucked in a startled breath and his eyes instantly glazed, looking away from Dean for the first time since they’d stepped up to Baby.

 

“ _ Hey hey hey, _ ” Dean murmured gently, stepping close enough to throw a leather-clad arm around Castiel’s shoulders. “We'll find him. We  _ will _ . But until then... Sam’n I will do your chores this year, okay?” He squeezed a little tighter, rubbing Castiel’s arm with the hand wrapped around his shoulders, his other hand clenching and unclenching helplessly at his side. 

 

“When's your Birthday, Cas?” Dean asked gently.

 

Castiel sucked in a shaking breath, cleared his throat. “August,” he whispered.

 

“Okay, Sam can wash your car, and I’ll mow your backyard, huh?”

 

“You most certainly will  _ not -  _ Oh. _ ”  _ Castiel grinned ruefully as Dean released him to his own recognizance, and they grinned at each other in horror, imagining it.

 

“You wouldn’t have a window left in the house,” Dean allowed, chuckling, and Castiel shook his head, eyes wide.

 

“My orchids would be  _ destroyed,  _ Dean. It would be a  _ massacre _ .”

 

Dean hadn’t thought of that, and his eyes widened in horror to match Castiel’s.

 

“Alright, I’ll man the grill then,” he offered, “how ‘bout that.”

 

“I don’t have a grill, Dean.”

 

Dean grinned at him, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, and Castiel’s face lit up.

 

“Ohhh, can we  _ grill  _ this summer?”

 

“Yes, yes we can. Now let’s split up and cover more ground, Cas, I have bacon to watch Sammy eat himself sick on.”

 

Castiel leaned into Dean’s space to whisper “Thank you,” his breath tickling over Dean’s ear and raising all the hairs on the back of his neck again, before spinning on his heel and striding rapidly away, gone before Dean could protest that there was nothing at all to thank him for.

 


	41. They Say It's Your Birthday

On Friday, Castiel drove himself to work absolutely giddy with excitement. He’d barely been able to sleep but the adrenaline carried him through, his promise to accept and immediately hand over a piece of cake to Dean at the impending ritual unveiling of the sheetcake the only thing stopping him from calling out the entire day to continue his experiments. He knocked on Dean’s office to wish him Happy Birthday and to bring him a boxed dozen of Boston cream doughnuts just to enjoy watching him gag from over-doughnut-exposure, accepting them dutifully for Sam anyway, and reporting that the bacon sandwiches has been a  _ rousing  _ success, seriously, Castiel would have to try them sometime. Castiel demurred politely, both to a future donut-and-bacon meal and to offer a single hint about dinner tonight, slipping out of Dean’s office with a smile as Dean took a phone call, scowling at Cas theatrically.

Time crawled until lunch, which Castiel ate alone at his desk, because Dean was out at a meeting. Thankfully there was a bug to fix that made two o‘clock appear in the blink of an eye, and when Anna stuck her face into his cubicle Castiel yawned and stretched and pulled on his suit coat to follow her to the conference room, both of them barely beating the Birthday Boy to his own ritual. The HR lady made a huge show of leading everyone who had shown up - which actually looked like everyone, Castiel noted - in a rendition of Happy Birthday that started an octave too high, her thin wavering soprano reminding Castiel in no small measure of the house cats that mated outside his window in the summertime. 

Castiel’s skin crawled in empathy as he watched Dean bear it, but when he added his voice to the last stanza, comfortably in his range an octave below everyone else, Dean’s eyes sought him out in surprise, a soft smile touching his lips as his eyes fell to his clenched hands again, waiting for it to be over. The HR Lady handed him the card and a knife, and Castiel watched him carefully not shudder, smile his thanks to everyone, and chop the ‘Happy Birthday Dane’ cake into rectangles for the waiting stack of paper plates, which Anna stepped up to help hand out.

To Anna’s shock, Castiel accepted a large piece of cake, leaning on the conference table to wait for Dean to be available. Eventually the furor died down, cake was doled out to all the eager hands, Birthday wishes wished, and Dean made it over to lean against the table beside Castiel, holding a plate and a fork.  He took a test bite of cake, and grimaced.

“Oh, man, what  _ is _ that filling?”

I warned you.”

“Hey, free cake is better than no cake.”  Dean gamely made it through several more bites before Castiel watched him carefully slice the frosting away from the center of the cake with his fork, piling it to the side to continue working on the cake section.

“Has the headache started yet?” Castiel asked, and Dean grinned furiously, shaking his head. 

“I’m not admitting a thing.”  He set the plate down beside him, all but the frosting devoured, and Castiel presented him with the piece of cake he’d saved, as though presenting a sword to a knight.

“ _ Aww, Fuck _ , you remembered.”

Castiel spit himself slightly, shaking his head in mirth. “Of course, Dean.”

Dean groaned, accepting the cake and the implied knighthood with a slight bow of his head, and poking at it with the included fork.

“I’m not even sure I want to bring the rest of it home,” he sighed, “Even though… Sam might want it,” he course corrected lamely, and Castiel carefully made no indication whatsoever he knew anything about Dean’s Old Mother Hubbard situation at home.

“If at all possible Dean, please don’t eat any more of that  _ nor _ let Sam have any today before dinner, okay? And for the love of all things Holy do not bring that abomination into my house. Alright?”

Dean stared at Castiel, his eyes wide and pleading. “Just ONE hint, Cas?”

Castiel started to shake his head no, but he relented, since it  _ was  _ Dean’s birthday, after all.

“There will be meat.”

“CAS!”

Castiel beamed, his eyes twinkling. “You may bring all your condiments, Dean, in case you have some I don’t know you need.”

“AAAAUGH.”

Castiel’s smile was so bright it almost hurt Dean’s eyes.  “I’ll see you tonight, Dean.”

“Are you leaving now?”

“I only stayed this long to keep my word by providing you with an additional piece of that horrible confection.” Castiel turned and was gone before Dean could answer. He crossed the empty room to collect the cardboard tray with the remaining sheet cake on it, sliding the piece Castiel had given him in beside the third of the cake still remaining. They still had two more ridiculously expensive textbooks to purchase on Sam’s list next paycheck, and the important thing here was, this was neither  _ rice, nor beans.  _ Dean shuddered.  Maybe he could make French toast out of the cake part. Or something. 

##    
  


***

Castiel fled North, racing down the stairwell to his Old Lady and tossing his laptop bag in the back to point her head towards his Trader Joe’s as fast as he could will himself there, without going more than five miles over the speed limit and signaling every turn. He collected fresh hamburger buns and more of the beef and vegetables and potatoes he had used up practicing this week, rushing through the selection process and tapping his foot impatiently as Brandon checked him out and bagged his purchases.

“Is everything Okay, sir?” Brandon asked, uncharacteristically without a hint of snark, and Castiel nodded, startled.

“Yes, thank you, Brandon, it’s just… it’s my friend’s Birthday and I still have to pick up the cake from the bakery and get my food prep done.”

“Tall and gorgeous, or even taller and gorgeouser little brother?” Brandon asked seriously, handing Castiel his bags.

“Tall and gor-  _ Dean _ . It’s Dean’s birthday,” Castiel replied, coloring slightly, and Brandon beamed up at him, handing him his receipt. 

“Well, wish him a Happy Birthday from me, won’t you Mister?”

Castiel grinned at the boy, accepting the receipt gravely. Brandon’s fingertips brushed against his but there was no electricity, and Castiel pocketed the receipt and nodded seriously.

“You may call me Castiel, Brandon, and I will, thank you.”

He turned to push his cart out of the store and shook his head, grinning, as Brandon called after him, “If there’s an after party, Castiel, you have my number!”  ... _ and there it is.   _ The kid was a menace.

Castiel raced home at exactly five miles over the speed limit, willing the road to pass under his tires faster, to toss the grocery bags on his kitchen table and to drag his empty coffin-sized cooler down to his beast, installing it easily into the cavernous yawn of her trunk, and figuring it was cool enough out that he wouldn’t actually need ice.

Castiel was utterly delighted by what the bakery had wrought, and he tried to tip so generously the baker flat out refused, begging him instead to send his friends in for all their confectionary needs. Castiel promised that he would, bought an apple pie just in case as an afterthought, and carefully made two trips out to his car to stow the treasures inside his cooler and head home the several blocks to his house at five miles  _ below _ the speed limit this time, slowing down to crawl over every pothole and crack in the pavement, holding his breath in agony.

Castiel couldn’t stop himself from checking once he got his car inside his garage, but everything looked great and he gently shut the cooler, delicately pulled his trunk closed like it was made of glass, and hit the remote to clatter the garage door shut, racing upstairs to fumble his lock open before the racket of the descending door had even ended.

He was tense as hell, but he glanced at the clock and there was nothing for it, he had  _ way _ too much to do before five. Castiel grimaced manically, raced upstairs to change, and was back in his kitchen scrubbing russet potatoes in the sink within the space of three minutes.

##    
  


***

##    
  


Dean finished his after-meeting paperwork and emails as fast as he could, gritting his teeth. He’d barely made it back in time for his own sheet cake and horrifying birthday serenade - although Cas’s soft ‘HAPpy Biiirthday toooo youuu” at the last moment had kind of made his whole day - but Cas had seemed so worried yesterday. He wanted to arrive at five on the dot. 

It was pushing three-thirty when Dean wrapped his last task and he realized that with the traffic he wasn’t going to be able to stop at home to change and still make it on time. Ugh. Maybe he could borrow something of Cas’s.  He texted Sam he was leaving, pocketed a white garbage bag from the break room, and gingerly made his way down the stairwell carrying a laptop bag, Sam’s box of Boston creams, and a cardboard tray of cake down several sets of stairs, through the heavy stairwell door, and into Baby’s back seat, carefully nestled on the clean bag, just in case.

Sam was loitering on a bench in front of the library, chatting with a pretty, dark-haired girl, and Dean turned off Baby and leapt out, adjusting his tie, to introduce himself, extending a hand politely with his best salesman smile as Sam stood up to shoulder his bulging backpack.

“Hi, I’m Dean, Sam’s brother. You must be Sarah - “

“Happy  _ Birth _ day, Dean,” she interrupted with a huge smile, and Dean smiled down at her, pleased. 

“Thank you,” he managed after his initial surprise, releasing her hand, and she turned to punch Sam in the ribs playfully, mock-scowling up at him at  _ least  _ eight or nine inches and stage whispering, “You didn’t tell me your brother was so  _ cute,  _ Sam.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Sam stage whispered back, gamely pretending to rub his side where she’d punched him, his smile radiant and fond as he watched Dean preen smugly. “He’s plenty full of himself enough already.” Sam’s eye took in the cake in the back seat through Baby’s window and he grew visibly excited, turning pleadingly to Dean but Dean shook his head no, just as Sarah leaned forward to follow Sam’s glance through the window. 

“I promised Cas I wouldn’t let you have any before dinner - “

“I  _ just  _ took you to lunch and you ate  _ everything - “ _

Dean and Sarah shared an absolutely  _ delighted  _ look, and she came over to stand next to him and put her hands on her hips, leaning into Dean’s side in commiseration as they both watched Sam, sheepishly hanging his head and gazing wistfully through the window at the cake.

“He’s a bottomless  _ pit.  _ How do you  _ feed _ him?”  she asked, and Dean shook his head in fond agreement, grinning at her. 

“I don’t know, Sarah. I just open the cage door, throw raw meat at him, and try to pull my fingers back in time.” 

Sarah snorted, grinning. “Well, I hear your friend Castiel has something pretty special planned for your big day, and I bet Sam’ll meet his match  _ tonight _ .”

“Wait, Sam  _ knows what’s for dinner??? _ ” Dean’s faux fury ratcheted up a notch as he glared at Sam. “ALL Cas would tell  _ me _ is ‘ _ There will be meat _ ’.” Dean thought about that for a minute while Sam grinned at him smugly, and his face fell. “Aww shit, he said to bring my condiments in case I need some he doesn’t have, and I didn’t have time to stop home.”

“You’ll be fine,” Sam promised. “Come on, or we’ll be late.”  He let out an ‘Oomf’ as Sarah threw her arms around him to squeeze him tight and tell him to behave, and barely had time to squeeze her back before she was subjecting Dean to the same treatment, whispering “Happy Birthday, so good to finally meet you, Dean,” before lightly skipping back up the sidewalk and up the steps to disappear into the library.

“I  _ like _ her,” Dean opined, as they sank into their seats and pulled their doors shut in synchrony. 

“Me too,” Sam agreed.

“No offense, but how’d you ever get up the nerve to talk to a girl like that?” Dean was teasing, but it was a fair cop, and Sam grinned.

“I didn’t. She sat down next to me one day and declared we were friends now.” 

“Oh, I  _ really  _ like her.”

They rode in relative silence for a few moments, Dean counting under his breath, until Sam whined plaintively, “ _ Please?  _ I won’t tell Cas and it won’t ruin my dinner, I swear!”

“Twenty-three seconds, Sam. You made it twenty-three seconds.”

“So, can I?”

“No,” Dean grinned. “But you can have one doughnut, if you can stand to eat any more. Cas brought you a whole box. I think he might have been the one bringing them in all week, too, it’s the same kind...”

Sam wasn’t listening, he was already halfway over the back seat snagging a doughnut as Dean added sharply “ _ Hey! _ No frosting, either.”

“Too late,” Sam answered smugly, collapsing back into his seat with half a doughnut left in his hand. He chewed contemplatively for a moment and made a face. “The frosting was not an improvement.”

“Yeah, same for the cake.”

“Did they sing?”

“Yup.”

“Did you hate it?”

Dean hesitated for a second, thinking about Cas singing that one line, his voice soft and low, his face crinkled in fond sympathy when Dean had glanced up, startled. 

“You didn’t hate it?” Sam stared at him calculatingly.

Dean shrugged, sheepish. “It was pretty awful at first, but… Cas sang the last line and that made it… okay.”

“Huh.” Sam’s face was speculative, and Dean glanced at him and back to the road, frowning.

“What? He’s my best friend, Sam. It was… nice.”

“Nothing.” Sam’s face turned wicked. “Oh, man, I can’t waaait for dinner, it’s gonna be  _ deeee-lish-usssssss.” _

_ “God _ I hate you, bitch _. _ ”

“Love you too, jerk.”

##    
  


***

Castiel wiped his hands on a dishtowel and pointedly  _ not  _ the promotional apron that had come with his new appliance as he heard Baby growl up the street, stepping to his door to open it and welcome the boys inside. He was startled to see Dean still in his suit and tie, the dissonance of Dean grinning up at him from his driveway dressed to at  _ least  _ the eight-and-a-halfs  -  _ Jesus he looks great -  _ making his mouth feel dry and his tension ratchet up a notch. He fleetingly regretted not taking a minute this afternoon - or last night, or this morning -  but banished the thought immediately, beaming down at the Winchesters as they mounted his stairs. 

Dean was first and he was so pleased to see Castiel, beaming up at his face, that it took him reaching the top of the landing before he glanced down to actually read the apron, stopping dead so that Sam ran into from behind where he was bent over double, gasping for breath.

Sam regained his balance, glanced from Dean to Cas and then took in the apron as well, plain black letters over white, all one word, that simply read “FryDaddy.” Castiel stepped aside so they could get past him into the kitchen, beaming smugly, while both Winchesters entered, cackling, only to stop dead again with their mouths falling open. 

Castiel had outdone himself. He’d decorated - actual paper streamers in the living room doorway and grocery store mylar balloons with festive birthday greetings bumping the ceiling in various corners of the kitchen - but it was the sheer number of ingredients that really caught the eye. Castiel’s entire counter and two-thirds of the kitchen table were covered in a motley assortment of every pie plate and cookie sheet and casserole dish Castiel owned, heaping with carefully cut, extremely uniform slices of _everything._ Dean stepped closer to look, his eye sliding over green things and orange things and yellow things to land on the largest piles on the counter, the entire turkey roasting pan full…

“Are those  _ French Fries?” _

Castiel beamed. “Yes.”

“ _ And _ Sweet potato fries?”

“Also yes.”

“Did you… _buy a_ _deep fryer???”_

“Can’t slip anything past _you_ , Dean,” Sam commented wryly, leaning over the table to inspect the vegetables. “Oh, man, _carrots?_ What are those like deep fried?” he glanced up at Castiel, currently beaming at Dean, who seriously looked like he was about to cry.

“Cas?”   
  


Castiel tore his eyes away from Dean to look at Sam, answering mildly, “Delicious. You’ll see.”

Sam was already munching on stolen carrot strips, poking at the tray of battered mushrooms with growing excitement, as Castiel returned his gaze to Dean, who had collected himself and was turning in a slow half-circle, surveying the piles.  

“I thought you were gonna let me help, Cas - “

“You will, Dean. Despite my best efforts I have been unable to turn out anything resembling a medium cheeseburger - “

“ _ What? Really? - “ _

“And I’ll need your help with the bacon, if you aren’t tired of bacon yet?” Castiel was uncertain, but Dean turned back to him, eyes shining, to whisper, “ _ Never, _ ” and Castiel’s shoulders straightened in relief. They stared at each other in delight for so long Sam actually cleared his throat before Castiel blinked and swept his eyes over Dean’s attire, his face coming back up to Dean’s eyes with a question on it.

“Yeah, I didn’t have time to get home to change,” Dean answered, shrugging, “But you’re right, no way I can cook bacon in this. Can I borrow… anything?”

“Cas has another apron, just wear that,” Sam quipped, and Castiel snorted as Dean rolled his eyes, grinning. 

“Old Tee-shirt, sweatpants, anything?”

Sam cut in before Castiel could answer. “Hang on, I can give you your first present right now and that’ll get you halfway there!” He dove for his backpack, abandoned on the floor by the door, blocking the view with his body like they might peek as he rummaged. Sam turned around, holding something behind his back, and demanded “Shut your eyes.”

Dean obliged, holding out his hands, and Castiel’s chest hurt watching Sam’s face, looking all of five years old, eager and hopeful, pressing the crumpled fabric into Dean’s hands. Dean waited, silent and completely still, until Sam lilted “Okay, you can look now,” clearly a long-standing tradition, and Castiel’s heart ached again watching Dean’s eyes open, not to look at the contents of his hands, but to smile up at his little brother.

“Looook at it,” Sam demanded, and Dean did as he was told, blinking slowly and then looking down to uncrumple and hold up the shirt, a vintage-style rock tee, black with white letters and a winged, flying man - or maybe an angel - arms outstretched.

“I  _ love _ it,” Dean breathed, laying it reverently over a kitchen chair to slip out of his suit coat, tossing the coat over the same chair to loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt, while Castiel’s eyes widened in surprise and he tried - and failed - to tear them away.  

Dean was down to a white undershirt in second flat, peeling it up over acres of freckles, the indent of his navel a dark shadow above the delicate trail of dark curls leading down to disappear behind the gleaming buckle of his belt, the gentle lines of his obliques - not cut, Castiel’s practiced eye noted, but powerful, strength coiled under soft skin, like a predator cat - forming an enticing arrow inviting the eyes south… Dean was already pulling the new shirt on, the hem caressing its way over thick muscle and delicious little brown nipples, erect from the fabric that had already brushed past them, when Castiel abruptly turned away, calling, “I’ll find you some pants,” from the safety of the living room as he made his hasty escape up the stairs towards his bedroom. 

Castiel stopped by his bathroom first to splash cold water on his face, glaring at himself in the mirror - NO, there’s no time and you will NOT objectify your friend on his BIRTHDAY goddammit -  _ Sweet Mary Joseph is he gorgeous though _ \- before hastily stepping into his bedroom to root around in his closet, grabbing the same pair of sweatpants he’d previously lent Sam and a pair of clean gym shorts in case Dean had a preference. He couldn’t do anything about the dress shoes - unless - he grabbed a pair of the new dollar store flip-flops he kept in a bin for disposable travel shower shoes. Better than dress shoes for cooking, probably. Castiel made his way downstairs with the clothes under one arm and the flip-flops clutched in one hand, tension simmering under his skin.

He found the boys arguing good-naturedly over the dishes on the table, trying to guess what some of the uniform rectangles might be.

“I say that’s pumpkin,” Dean insisted. “No cheating!” he scolded as Sam bent over to sniff the orange strips, and Sam grinned, sniffing anyway, before standing back up and declaring, “buttercup squash.”  They looked to Cas for a verdict, clutching a small bundle of fabric in his outstretched hands, and Dean stepped towards him to take the offerings from him, his face still hoping for a win.

“You’re both wrong,” Castiel declared. “Acorn squash.”

“I was closer!” Sam tried, but Castiel smiled softly, shaking his head. “Pumpkin is technically a squash - they’re all cucurbits - so it’s a tie.”  He managed to turn his back his time as Dean summarily stripped down to boxers and pulled on the sweatpants and flip-flops, crossing the kitchen to fetch Dean his other apron while Dean moved his work clothes to the living room, laying out a flat Dean on the couch, complete with shoes on the floor. Dean snickered to himself, returning to accept and don the apron Castiel offered.

“What’s the plan?” he asked, and Castiel waved a hand over the table. 

“I thought we’d do a few appetizers, hopefully while you concurrently fry up some bacon, and then I’ll work on fries for a while until I have a reasonable head start keeping warm in the oven, and then you can make the burgers?”  Castiel turned back to Dean, who was already nodding enthusiastically, crossing to the fridge to look for bacon and beer.

“Careful -  “ Castiel leapt to assist but Dean already had it, catching the stack of bowls as it threatened to tip out. He steadied it but Cas was already reaching to help, murmuring “They can come out now, it’s about time,” as his fingers brushed over Dean’s to lift the top three, precariously stacked on their taut saran-wrap covers. Dean suppressed a shudder at the ripple of goosebumps Castiel’s touch sent up his arm,  _ Holy Shit,  _ the sparks felt strong tonight, but if Cas noticed he didn’t show it, carefully setting the dishes on the clear end of the dining table and lifting the saran wrap up with careful fingernails.

Dean followed suit, resisting the urge to stick a pinky in and taste. Each dish held a completely different sauce and he looked to Cas hopefully for an explanation as Castiel arranged the dishes carefully in a three-by-three grid across the table. Castiel pointed and went through them rapid-fire in clockwise rotation, ending in the center with a smile as both Winchester’s mouths fell open in awe.

“Avocado ranch, blue cheese, chipotle aioli, honey mustard of course, marinara for the mozzarella sticks - those are in the fridge still I should get those out - cilantro jalapeno, guacamole just in case, sweet chili sauce, and that one’s just… hot.”

Castiel beamed at the boys as they gaped at the largesse and then back up at him. Dean’s lips parted to whisper “ _ You shouldn’t - _ “ but he visibly course corrected as Sam elbowed him in the ribs to just breathe “Holy Shit,  _ thank you,  _ Cas. You must have worked on this  _ all week,  _ no wonder you were itching to get home last night and this afternoon.”

Castiel nodded, preening. “I did a  _ lot  _ of experimenting, but I finally - mostly - figured it out.  Mushrooms first? The crumbs look like they’re sagging.”

Sam nodded eagerly, and Castiel scooped up the pyrex that was holding little breaded mushrooms and stepped up to the FryDaddy, quietly hissing to itself, to lift the basket, carefully tong exactly half of the mushrooms into the basket, and lower it, popping and churning, into the hot oil. He consulted a notebook Dean hadn’t noticed before, laying on the counter, and set a timer.

Dean suddenly remembered he was helping, and dove back into the refrigerator to find and grab the bacon, cracking open an El Sol open while he was at it - no  _ way _ Cas bought that for himself -  and getting a pan going. He settled on a stack of paper towels over aluminum foil on the next burner over, since every available dish Cas owned was currently under a heap of  _ something _ .  They fried in solidarity, nearly shoulder to shoulder, Dean turning out strips of perfectly browned bacon, pausing between flipping slices with a fork to test each course of appetizers as Castiel brought them to the table, Cas trusting each last burnt tongue experience to teach Sam to wait before diving in and being wrong enough times in a row that he started letting them cool on the counter for a minute before bringing them to fling at the uncaged beast, who was eating a  _ lot  _ more vegetables than Dean had let on to Sarah. With quite a few more dipping sauces than Dean had let on as well.

By the time the bacon was done, Castiel had switched to french fries, piling each batch on the paper towels on a cookie sheet he had on low in the oven until he had a mountain going, then nodding to Dean as Dean snagged a couple fries from the last batch while Sam whined jealously from the table, that it was time.

Dean snorted at Castiel’s carefully pressed hamburger patties, smiling at him and shaking his head in apology as he smashed several together to reform them by hand into three thick burgers more to his liking. He dropped them right in the bacon grease pan, mostly poured out but still thick with crispy bits, and stepped away to check the fridge for cheese slices.

“ _ Holy Crap,”  _ Dean whispered, sliding out the deli drawer. Cas had outdone himself. Not only were all the fixings - tomato, lettuce, delicate rings of onion - carefully arranged on a saran-wrapped plate, he must have - Dean counted - okay he had at  _ least  _ a dozen kinds of cheese sliced in here on a new cutting board under saran wrap, arranged in squares or little stacks of smaller slices for the fancier cheeses that obviously hadn’t come from the deli. Dean pulled both out, his eyes wide, to bring them over to the table where there was now a little room since they’d eaten quite a few of the containers empty, and Sam jumped up to stack empty containers so Dean could set them down. Two brothers stared at each other in guilty wonder, and then turned to look at Castiel in one synchronized motion, two bodies turning towards him, two faces staring at him in wide-eyed shock.

Castiel turned as he felt their attention, and he shrugged sheepishly. “What?”

“Cas, all of this - “ Dean overrode Sam’s tiny headshake, raising his hand to stifle him, “ - This is too  _ much,  _ Cas - “ he hesitated as Castiel’s shoulders hunched defensively and Sam’s urgent eyes bored twin holes into the side of his face. 

“You’re spoiling me, Cas,” he finished lamely, “and I feel guilty you went to so much trouble.” 

Castiel waved a hand dismissively, turning away to pull up his basket of sweet potato fries to dump it on paper towels to drain, then turning back to Dean shyly, worrying his bottom lip in his teeth for a second before mounting his defense.

“I didn’t know what kind you’d want, and I didn’t want to tip my hand by asking. It’s just cheese. It’s your  _ birthday,  _ Dean.” Castiel’s voice got quiet as his eyes broke away from Dean’s face to linger over the platter. “You should  _ get to _ have your favorite cheese on your  _ birthday _ , Dean.” 

Castiel turned away to open the oven door, pulling out the cookie sheet to dump this batch of fries on top of the stack already on it, salting them and closing the over door again before glancing at Dean’s frying pan and observing neutrally, “The burgers are burning.”

“ _ Shit!”  _ Dean was back at the stove in an instant, turning down the heat and trying to flip them over, but Cas was right, these were charred beyond redemption. He scraped them off in defeat, stacked them on a piece of aluminum foil, and wiped out the pan in shame, shaking his head at the waste. Castiel smiled at him softly, delicately picked up the edges of the foil, carried the bindle to the freezer, cocking his head for Dean to follow.

Dean followed, curiously peering into the freezer as Castiel opened it, and then he doubled over laughing so hard Sam looked up from stealing cheese at the kitchen table, unfolding himself from the chair he was draped over to come take a look.

It was a vast graveyard of failed experiments, bag upon bag of casualties of war, and Sam’s mouth fell open in awe as Castiel pulled out one of the ziplock bags -  this one merely half full of cooked beef patties, rather than bulging like the others - to tip Dean’s failures into the body bag, setting it gravely down on top of its fallen brethren and turning to grin at Dean, still bent over gasping for air.

“I  _ told  _ you I was unable to turn out a medium burger to save my life,” Castiel protested, shaking his head and mock-scowling at Dean’s unseemly mirth. 

“Apparently I can’t either,’ Dean sighed, wiping his eyes on the back of his sleeve. “Aww man, that makes me feel better, though. Sorry, Cas.”

Castiel beamed, snapping the freezer door shut with a flourish, and bowing theatrically.

“Good. I’m glad my pain could serve a higher purpose. Now, if monsieur would prepare  _ new _ burgers, that we might eat before the fries wilt…”

Dean leapt to oblige, anointing the frying pan with a spoon of bacon fat from the can he’d drained it into earlier and making three more thick patties from Castiel’s impressive stack of ground beef pancakes. He watched these with exaggerated care, grinning at Castiel and bending down to stare at the burgers until they started to pop grease, then he straightened up and stopped the shenanigans, watching seriously while Castiel paid careful attention. Dean flipped the burgers at different times, based on some measure of density he apparently could ascertain with a gentle press of the spatula, and waved a hand at Cas for the pan lid while Castiel scrambled to find it, baffled why Dean would want it.

Dean demanded American cheese slices and whatever anyone else wanted, waving a hand while Cas fell over himself to bring him the stack, and when he laid careful strips of bacon over cheese slices on each burger, dumping the last third of his El Sol in the pan and and slapping the lid on to catch the steam, Castiel watched in awe, turning at last to smile up at Dean.

“I could watch you cook all day, Dean. You’re  _ good  _ at this.”

Dean flushed a little under the praise, smiling softly and lifting the pan off the heat with some urgency. “Haven’t got all day, Cas,” he grinned, “It’s  _ go  _ time!”

Castiel leapt to get plates and buns and Dean doled out three thick burgers onto the waiting bottom buns while Castiel grabbed his paltry selection of condiments, including a single unopened jar of dill pickle slices, which he set down as far away from everything else on the table as was physically possible. Castiel was already turning around to pull the cookie sheet of french fries out of the oven, so only Sam saw Dean’s eyes mist for real this time, staring in shock at the jar of pickles, anathema unto Castiel, that he had nevertheless paid  _ actual money _ for and  _ allowed to cross his threshold _ , so that Dean could have them on his birthday.

Dean was composed, smiling softly, by the time Cas looked up from manhandling the cookie sheet of what had to be five pounds of french fried tubers, setting it on a dishtowel beside the remaining dipping sauces in the center of the spread.  The mountain of fries threatened an avalanche and three delighted men piled condiments on their burgers and passed around tongs, grabbing fries and snapping up any that hit the table with rapidly singed fingers.

For a long time there was no sound except chewing. Eventually there were various grunts having to do with the suitability of the various dipping sauces with french fries, punctuated with the waving of dipped fries with yea or nay noises. Dean smoothly lied about the hot sauce just to get Sam to try it, Sam held a straight face and made approving noises just to get Cas to try it, and Castiel looked from one to the other of them, shook his head, and got up to get another round, both brothers laughing and gasping in pain since Cas wasn’t going to go for it after all.

By the time Castiel and Dean were leaning back from their plates, watching Sam work on the remaining mound of fries with great gusto, Dean could barely breathe he was so full. 

“Is that enough, or would you like another burger, Dean?” Castiel’s smile was fond, but he was serious, and Dean turned to him incredulously.

“Are you  _ kidding?  _ How much do you think I can  _ eat,  _ Cas? I’m stuffed so full right now I think another burger would  _ kill  _ me.”

Castiel’s smile slowly stretched wider as he tilted his head towards Sam, and Dean shook his head. “Not even when I was his age, Cas. Not ever.”

“Well, I hope you’re not too full for cake.” 

“ _What?_ _For real?”_ Dean clapped his mouth shut from hanging wide open after a couple seconds, while Sam looked from one to the other of them in delight, finally slowing on the french fry cleanup at this reminder there was going to be _cake._

“Can we, uh, wait a little bit? Maybe let me clean this up and then - “

“It’s your  _ birthday, Dean. _ ”  Castiel actually sounded sounded affronted, and Sam broke in to arbitrate, his tone soothing.

“Dean can’t sit still while other people work, Cas, it makes him super touchy. Make him cook something and I’ll do the dishes, how’s that?” 

Dean glared at Sam for ‘helping,’ but Castiel was already rolling with it. “Actually, I was kind of hoping maybe the cheese we didn’t use…and whatever beef we could salvage from the wreckage…” He trailed off for a moment, watching the smile playing over Dean’s lips. “I bought milk and macaroni elbows?”

“Oh HELLS yes, Cas!” Dean exclaimed, leaping to his feet, “I am gonna make the  _ fanciest  _ mac and cheese you ever tasted, you are gonna lunch like a  _ king  _ next week - I’m putting that hot pepper cheese in, too - “

“Maybe not the blue cheese?” Castiel interrupted, “and for the love of god you guys have to help me eat it I can’t eat this much cheese by myself!” Dean nodded distractedly, opening the cabinet for Castiel’s biggest saucepan and finding a wrapped gift instead.

Dean looked up at Castiel accusingly from where he was crouched on his haunches and Castiel smiled shyly, his shoulders hunching guiltily as his fingers nervously twisted the fabric of his apron.

“I already used it, and I know it’s a terrible gift because you probably can’t really use it anywhere but here - of course you’re welcome to take it home - but I thought for tonight, and maybe since I already bought the fryer -”

“Shut  _ up,  _ Cas,” Dean murmured, pulling the gift out and heaving it to the kitchen table, grunting in surprise at the necessary effort. “This dinner is  _ already too much,  _ Cas _ ,  _ but if you  _ wrap  _ something _ ,  _ you know I’ve gotta  _ unwrap it.”  _ Dean’s eyes were twinkling and his gambit was working, Castiel was already pulling up from his near panic, his face hopeful and his apron untwisting by degrees.

Sam stopped stacking dishes to come watch, and Dean carefully picked at the tape to reveal the box for an enormous gleaming black and chrome food processor. He stared at the photo on the side of the box with his mouth open until Sam cleared his throat, then he managed to open the box and look inside, lifting out the form-fitting styrofoam padding Castiel had carefully replaced after washing it mere hours earlier.

“I just realized that buying you an appliance so you can cook for me is a  _ terrible _ gift,” Castiel muttered, glaring at the box, “and I am  _ so  _ sorry,  Dean, I might as well have bought you a vacuum cleaner so you could clean, too - “ but Dean’s not entirely gentle mock punch to Castiel’s shoulder interrupted his spiral and he rubbed at his arm reflexively, lifting his downcast eyes to meet Dean’s glance, which was soft and terribly fond.

“Cas,  _ stop it. I love power tools.  _  I’ve only ever seen these on TV. I never in a  _ million years  _ thought I’d  _ have  _ one.” Dean’s face lit up as he turned away to pull the thing out of the box and he got a look at the blades that came with it. “Oh my god, is this how you made all the fries so perfect -  _ wait _ ,” he turned to Cas, holding up a disc perforated with raised half-circle holes, each of them honed to a razor’s edge, ”does this  _ grate cheese???” _

_ “ _ Yes. And no - the fries came out too small so I cut those with a knife - but I did make all the sauces with it and most of the vegetables.” Castiel’s face fluctuated between relieved and  _ smug,  _ and he and Sam watched, rapt, as Dean manhandled the thing - which looked to weigh a ton - to the counter, plugged it in, fiddled with the bowl and the disc blade adapter, pressed the pulse button a couple times. His eyes lit up for real then, and he spun around with purpose, but Cas was already handing him the platter of cheese from the fridge, and Dean accepted it with a delighted nod, setting it on the counter beside his new toy.  

The cubed cheeses went into the hopper first, to be shoved into the chute with the provided oval chute-shaped plunger, dispatched into perfectly uniform strips of cheese in seconds flat. Dean’s face lit up in pure joy as he glanced at Cas, who grinned back, and then he reached for more chunks of cheese. Halfway through the platter Dean had to dump the full hopper into a bowl, and he fell under the sway of Sam’s puppy dog eyes then, stepping aside to let Sam have a go.

Sam actually made an astonished noise of glee as he pressed the pulse button and the cheese buzzed into strips in second flat, and Dean whispered, “ _ Right? _ ” as they grinned at each other, delighted. They turned to Castiel in tandem, grinning.

“- This is  _ awesome _ , Cas,  _ thank you _ \- ”

“-  _ Way _ better than a vacuum - ” 

Dean elbowed Sam in the ribs, muttering “Don’t - “ but his concern lifted as he took in Castiel’s pleased grin. Castiel was observably past his insecurity since Dean obviously loved the gift, Cas’s apron smooth on his body and his hands relaxed at his sides. Dean grinned at him as he elbowed Sam out of the way to finish whirling cheeses into strips, even the hot pepper cheese; Sam stepping to the sink instead to start cleaning up.

Castiel was momentarily at a loss until Dean put him to work stirring a roux, and three men worked companionably shoulder to shoulder to shoulder to turn a freezer full of Castiel’s despair into Mac & Cheese with and without beef, cheesy potatoes, and some sort of motley vegetable and cheese Frankenstein’s monster that Dean refused outright to have any part in but Sam and Castiel assembled with delight, their heads bent over the roasting pan cum casserole dish together since all the pyrexes were claimed. 

##    
  


***

##    
  


By the time the oven was crammed full of cheesy noodles and the dishes from that were done, Castiel figured he was safe to offer cake. He recruited Sam, the two of them summarily banishing Dean to the living room, and Castiel led Sam downstairs to help collect the cooler from his Old Lady. 

As Castiel bent to unlock his trunk Sam reached out, his hand on Castiel’s arm, and Castiel stopped to look up at him, his eyebrows lifting in concern.

Sam’s face was glowing in the garage light, his forehead creased and his eyes wide. 

“Thanks, Cas,” Sam whispered.

Castiel studied Sam’s face carefully. He’d never looked into Sam’s eyes this closely before and they had green in them like his brother’s, but also a striking ring of brown in the center around his pupils, his eyelashes not as long as Dean’s, but he was still  _ such _ a beautiful boy; his face so earnest right now it made Castiel’s chest tight.

“For what, Sam?” Castiel asked gently, his voice quiet as well since Sam seemed concerned about being overheard.

“Cas, Dean is taking care of me right now. I don’t have any way to pay for a dinner or anything -”

Castiel’s eyebrows rose in protest, “Sam, you don’t have to help pay  - “

“That’s not what I meant,” Sam interrupted, his eyes sparkling so brightly in the dim light Castiel’s chest hurt. “I meant, I didn’t have any way to give Dean a good birthday, so  _ thank you,  _ Cas _.  _ This has been  _ so awesome. _ ”

Castiel was startled to have eight feet of teenager suddenly wrapped around him, but after the second of initial shock he lifted his arms to hug back, murmuring into the general region of Sam’s hair, “I’m happy to do it, Sam.” He rubbed Sam’s back uncertainly, waiting for Sam to decide the hug was long enough, and when Sam let go, turning away to wipe his eyes on the back of his sleeve, Castiel turned to open the trunk and offered softly, “Sam, take a peek at the cake.”

Castiel lifted the lid to the cooler so Sam could peer inside, his mouth falling open in delight, the mood successfully rescued. 

“Oh my GOD.”

“Isn’t she a beauty?”

“Holy  _ Shit,  _ Cas, he’s gonna DIE.”

“Come on, let’s get her upstairs and figure out how to light those candles.”

Sam nodded eagerly and the two of them carefully manhandled the cooler up Castiel’s steps, tiptoed her into the kitchen, set her on the floor while Dean and Flat Dean both pretended not to be paying attention from the living room. A quick conferral, floppy hair inches from unruly black spikes as they leaned in to whisper, and then Sam announced loudly “Don’t look, Dean, we’re gonna bring you to the cake, okay? We don’t dare move it once we light it.”

Dean’s curiosity ratcheted up to eleven, but he hollered “Yup!” draining his beer in one fell swoop and shutting his eyes for good measure, listening carefully to the flurry of activity from the kitchen, chairs dragging, matches striking, then a sotto voce “ _ Holy Shit _ ,” he couldn’t even tell from who.

Sam appeared, breathless, to drag Dean to his feet and cover his eyes from behind. Dean allowed it grumpily, stepping forward where Sam shoved him, stopping when Sam stopped.

“ _ Should we sing?”  _ Castiel whispered, and Dean could feel Sam shrug. He held terribly still, hoping, his heart racing, and when Castiel started it, an octave lower than the shrill HR lady had done at work, Sam softly joining in after a heartbeat, pulling his hands away from Dean’s eyes, Dean held his breath; grateful his eyes were shut so he didn’t have to blink away any evidence of the flood of gratitude making his eyes sting and his chest hurt. He didn’t open his eyes until they were done, the last note hanging in the air; Sam hadn’t even been sarcastic he’d really sung it and Dean wanted to cling to the moment for just a little longer but he could hear their impatience and he opened his eyes, blinking at the brightness, and  _ Holy SHIT. _

The cake was Baby, lovingly recreated in shiny black and glittering sparkles where her chrome should be, some sort of shiny sugar candy windows, her headlights and taillights blazing flames, the cake starting to melt around them -  _ OH.  _ Dean stepped forward reverently to do his sacred duty, closing his eyes to make a single wish before gently puffing out the headlights, and circling the table to do the same for her taillights, so he could continue to admire - 

“Oh my GOD she even has PLATES?” Dean’s mouth fell open, admiring the tiny fondant license plate on Baby’s miniature bumper; he hadn’t noticed before with the giant flames shooting out of her at both ends. He paused to admire the candles - no wonder she’d been an inferno, looked like bundles of birthday candles, dozens of blackened wicks tied into cylinders and placed into holes cored in the - “What is that frosting?” Dean asked, reaching out to caress the baby Baby, gleaming under Castiel’s kitchen lights.

“Fondant, he said,” Castiel answered softly, sounding a little dazed. “I don’t know how he got it shiny. I thought it would be okay to get help with the cake, I only said I was making the dinner, I hoped you wouldn’t mind - “

Dean looked up at Castiel then, his eyes sparkling, to study Castiel’s face, half pleased, half worried he had somehow broken his word.

“Are you  _ kidding  _ me,” Dean whispered. “I  _ love  _ her, Cas.  _ Thank you. _ ” He turned back to marvel over her side mirrors - those looked edible too - and entirely missed Castiel’s sagging relief, his face, still dazed, transitioning to soft pleasure as he watched Dean examine Birthday Cake Baby from stern to bow, coming back around the front of the table to admire her front end again.

“What part are we gonna eat first?” Sam asked eagerly, and Dean visibly recoiled with horror at the idea, laughing as he caught himself.

“I caaan’t, I don’t want to ruin her, she’s so gorgeous - “

“Would it help if I took some pictures first?” Castiel beamed at Dean, pleased that Dean was so pleased, and Dean lit up at the idea. 

“Yes! Let’s! Do you have - “ but Castiel was already gone, halfway to his office by the sounds of his receding footsteps. Sam and Dean turned to each other to mouth “Oh my GOD” at each other, eyes wide, marvelling at the cake, before Castiel reappeared, a big square polaroid camera in his hands. He took a side shot, shaking his head and laughing at Sam and Dean leaping into the frame to make dumb faces behind Baby, handed the glossy white rectangle that spit out the bottom of his camera to Sam to shake while he leaned over to get an overhead shot, setting that one carefully on the table when it finished printing.

“Let me get one with you in it, Cas,” Sam suggested, setting his glossy rectangle down next to the other one on the table and reaching out his hands plaintively. Castiel looked reluctant but he was no match for the puppy eyes, and he resignedly handed over the cube of camera, circling the table to where Sam pointed, hunching down so Sam could get his three-quarters angle on cake Baby, commanding, “Come on Dean, get in there too, it’s  _ your _ birthday.”  Dean rolled his eyes, joined Castiel as a second giant lurking behind cake Baby, crouched down so their faces were even. 

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean whispered, just as Sam pressed the button.

“You blinked, Dean,” Sam accused. 

“No I didn’t!”

“Just take another,” Castiel sighed, and Sam nodded, demanding, “Say cheese!”

Castiel and Dean gamely cracked one giant fake smile each, but Sam’s “I was talking to  _ Baby _ , _ ”  _ coaxed momentary real ones, Sam’s delight at his successful capture pulling reluctant but real answering grins from his subjects as they rounded the table to watch his pictures come into focus.

Castiel’s photos were already coming in, the overhead shot catching a little of the gleam but not really doing her justice without a frame of reference for scale, the side shot with Sam and Dean clowning behind her a little better.  Sam reached for the one with him in it, his face pleading, and Castiel nodded easily, his eyes glued to the other two white rectangles, shapes just starting to coalesce.

Dean hadn’t blinked. He was half-turned to Castiel as if to whisper a secret, his eyes sparkling - Castiel couldn’t see the sparkles on the print but he could feel them all the same - Castiel’s soft smile partially obscured by the curve of cake Baby’s gleaming hood, his demurely downcast eyes fanning eyelashes across his cheek, both men in soft focus, the film casting them slightly sepia toned behind the sharp lines of cake Baby’s perfection. Castiel felt his face heating, the image capturing something ineffable that felt embarrassingly revealing, and his fingers twitched with a desire to cover it as he glanced sideways to see the other one that Dean was admiring, that one just a pair of great smiles, laughing up at Sam.

Sam stepped between them, glanced down, and smoothly palmed the ‘blink’ photo. 

“My bad, Cas is the one who blinked, you must have blinked right after I took it, Dean,” he commented, flashing it briefly at Dean and then handing the print and the camera to Castiel to deal with.

Castiel accepted both, briskly stepping away to return his camera to his office, pausing for a moment, alone, to stare at the photograph again. The tension simmering under his skin had slipped away somewhere around watching Dean’s face while they sang him Happy Birthday, replaced with quiet contentment, but studying the photograph now trickled something new into the pit of his stomach, something uneasy.

He hadn’t blinked, Sam was mistaken. He just wasn’t looking at the camera. The photograph made him feel melancholy, tugged at the grief that sometimes lurked below his surface when other people seemed happy together, which made no sense, because the photograph was of him, smiling with his friend. He sighed, tucking it away in a drawer. 

Castiel returned his camera to its shelf, stepped lightly downstairs, and handed Dean a knife and three plates, to watch with great satisfaction as Dean cringed his way through carving into Baby’s back end. Dean plated three thick slices, rich chocolate cake and thick chocolate frosting oozing out from under her perfect glittering carapace as he cut into her, looking up in surprise as he set the knife down and Sam handed him a brown paper bag.

“Uh, sorry, Cas, it’s kind of a tradition,” Sam apologized, flustered. Castiel watched with interest, Sam fidgeting in embarrassment, as Dean reached inside, smirking, to pull out a handful of sharpie-labeled silver CD-ROMS in plastic jewel cases, the titles in handwritten Spanish.

Dean read a couple, his eyebrows lifting, and Sam elaborated, beaming. “Manuel hooked me up with like the last six volumes burned to CD-ROMs as mpegs. I mean, that means they’re dubbed in Spanish, but I didn’t think you’d mind…”

“Are you kidding me,” Dean beamed, delighted, “I haven’t turned on the sound loud enough to make out words in years - “

They looked at each other and then both looked in Castiel’s general direction guiltily, Dean flushing furiously as Sam explained.

“Uh, porn, Cas,” Sam turned to grin at Dean as he continued, “but actually more like a bribe so Dean’ll let me borrow the car more, y’know, to get me out of our place…”

Dean’s smirk at Sam’s genius ploy was a thing of beauty, flush or no flush. He still couldn’t meet Castiel’s eyes, but Castiel save him from needing to, murmuring, “Oh, that reminds me, I got you something else, Dean.“

“Cas, you’ve already done  _ too much, _ ” Dean protested helplessly, but Castiel disappeared undeterred, returning in seconds from somewhere upstairs with a small brown bag in his hand.

“It’s nothing big,” Castiel promised, grinning. “This isn’t for your birthday, Dean, just something I remembered you asking me about a while back.”

Dean pulled the flip-top tube of ‘extreme hold’ hair gel out of the paper bag and studied it, his glance sliding from the brightly colored branding up to Castiel’s untameable hair and then landing on Castiel’s smirk, a question on Dean’s face.

“You said you liked my brand,” Castiel supplied helpfully, grinning smugly as Dean’s microexpression of shocked understanding instantly smoothed to innocent gratitude even as he entirely failed to stop his spreading flush, the tips of his ears pink, Sam mercifully preoccupied with testing Baby’s frosting with one finger.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean managed, dropping the tube of definitely-not-hair-gel in the bag with Sam’s gift and turning away to shove the bag under his jacket by the door.

“Ice cream?” Castiel asked cheerfully, and that got a resounding yes on all fronts, so he fetched the pint and the shiny silver scoop so they could split it three ways, creamy scoops of rich white melting onto their chunks of Baby’s flanks, Sam and Dean each commandeering an entire back tire.

The cake was absolutely delicious, the ice cream the baker had recommended as a pairing absolutely decadent, and when the three of them repaired to the living room with their bounty and another round of beer to kick Flat Dean off the couch and play Halo, Sam and Castiel ganging up on the Birthday Boy as a natural matter of course, Castiel couldn’t remember ever feeling so content. The uneasy feeling of grief that had troubled him since the moment in his office slipped away, firmly banished in the face of his exhilaration that Dean had enjoyed every part of his carefully planned evening, and he wished the boys goodnight - after successfully talking them into taking the lion’s share of the leftovers, including the entire untouched apple pie and most of the casseroles - with warm satisfaction curling around his heart.

##    
  


***

##    
  
  


The Winchesters were halfway home, Sam quietly tapping away on his laptop, when it hit Dean.

The pizza. The doughnuts. Anna’s cooler of bacon. And here he was, driving home from Castiel’s house, absolutely stuffed, with enough food in the trunk to last until next payday and then some. He turned to Sam, his stomach dropping with fury and shame as the certainty set in.

“ _ Did you tell Cas - ”  _  Dean froze as Sam physically flinched away from the fury in his voice, shrinking towards the passenger door in a way Dean hadn’t seen since Dad -  _ Fuuuck don’t turn into Dad.  _ Dean took a deep breath and tried for calm, his voice dangerously quiet despite his best efforts. 

“Did you tell Cas I - I haven’t been covering grocery money?” Dean returned his eyes to the road out of necessity, and Sam dared to lift his eyes from his laptop to study the set of Dean’s lips.

“What?  _ No,  _ Dean.” Sam wasn’t lying, but was also definitely not telling the whole truth, and they both knew it.

“What  _ did  _ you tell him?” The fury under Dean’s voice was contained now, still simmering, but Sam could hear the difference, and he sat up a little straighter and met Dean’s eyes.

“He texted me last Monday, Dean, asking about whether you wanted to cancel Friday dinner because it was your Birthday - “

“Wait,  _ what? _ Why would he think that I would want to cancel - “

“He said, and I quote, ‘ _It’s fine if you have ‘family plans,’_ _I understand’_ \- “ Sam nodded his agreement as Dean winced, “- and then he said _‘Dean’s been too busy to have lunch with me in weeks.’_ ”

“ _ Ohhhh shit.” _

_ “ _ Yeah. He probably thought you were avoiding him or mad at him or something.”

“Wait, why would I avoid him?”

“Gee, let me think, you woke up gently cuddling each other and haven’t said a word about it?”

Dean scowled at the road, brooding.

“Cas and I don’t need to talk about that, we’re  _ fine _ . And I’m  _ definitely _ not talking about it with you. ”

“Fine. Whatever.” Sam turned back to his paper and they rode in silence for several miles before Dean realized Sam had weaseled out of a real answer, and he shook his head, grinning at Sam’s skill.

“What  _ did  _ you tell him? _ ” _

Sam turned to Dean, his answering grin wide and slightly guilty.

“I told him the truth, Dean. I told him we were strapped - “

“That’s  _ private, Sam _ \- “

“-  _ because of my school fees,  _ Dean, and I begged him not to cancel dinner because it was the best thing we were gonna get to eat all week.” Sam shrugged at Dean’s scowl. 

“Look, I’m sorry, but I didn’t want you to have a shitty Birthday and Cas said he was gonna try to take us out for cheeseburgers and I didn’t say no, okay?” Sam grinned as Dean’s forehead furrowed further. “I said ‘good luck.’”

“I  _ knew  _ he was trying to take us out, but he changed it to ‘make’ you dinner at the last minute, and he was begging so hard, Sam, I couldn’t say no.”  Dean shook his head ruefully. “I should have just let him take us out. He must have dropped triple what that would have cost on ingredients and he  _ bought a deep fryer  _ and he tried so hard to learn to cook all week _ …” _

“And the food processor. And the professionally made cake. And the pie.”

“ _ Jesus.  _ Yeah.”

Dean turned into the Horseshoe feeling angry and guilty and grateful all at once. He turned to face Sam once Baby came to a stop, his hand on her key.

“Don’t tell Cas money stuff.”

“It’s no big deal, Dean - “

“ _ Yes, it IS.” _

They stared at each other, Dean trying desperately not to let his fury take his wheel, and Sam staring at him in confusion and dismay.

“ _ Why? _ ” Sam finally dared, and Dean twisted his keyring in his hands, trying to find the words. He took a deep breath and deflated.

“Because - because it’s _my fault you’re hungry._ ” Dean threw open his car door, growling “I don’t want to talk about it,” over his shoulder, slamming his door and reaching into the back seat to try to grab the cooler on his own. It was impossible, and he waited grumpily for Sam to join him, glaring pointedly for Sam to get the other end.

Sam didn’t reach for the cooler. He met Dean’s angry gaze with full eye contact, his eyes swimming.

“You are taking  _ good care _ of me Dean. I’m  _ not _ hungry. You’ve  _ never _ let me go hungry - it’s  _ my fault,  _ Dean, I have all the books I need, and a brand new laptop, and I’m going to my dream school, because of  _ you _ , okay?” Sam’s eyes spilled over and Dean shoved the cooler back to catch his brother instead, wrapping his arms around Sam’s back as Sam buried his face in Dean’s shoulder, his hunched shoulders shaking. 

Dean could see Alex slouched against the wall next to his door out of the corner of his eye, smoking a cigarette, looking up silently to see if Dean needed help, but Dean shook his head slightly and Alex nodded and went back to looking at his phone.

“I - I just wanted you to have a good birthday,” Sam mumbled into Dean’s shoulder, and Dean dared to let him go, gripping both sides of his big lug head, mop of hair and all, to force eye contact.

“I had the _best birthday_ _ever,_ Sammy.” 

Sam broke out of Dean’s grip to wipe his face self-consciously on the back of his sleeve, glancing at Alex and then back at Dean’s soft smile, his face still worried.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Help me get this upstairs and you can stuff another piece of cake in your face.”

“ _ Oh goddddd noooooo. _ ”

Dean snorted, turning to Alex. “You want a piece of Birthday cake, Alex?”

Alex shook his head, “No gracias, Dean. ¡Felicidades though!”

“Thanks, man.”

Sam turned to Alex, his embarrassment forgotten. “Alex, at  _ least  _ come upstairs and see it though, Cas got Dean a  _ Baby-shaped-cake,  _ It’s SO AWESOME!”

Alejandro’s nose crinkled in distaste as he stubbed out his cigarette. “Is this a gringo tradicion for a birthday? Una tarta en forma de bebe? This is not just for a - for a pregnant woman?”

Dean almost hurt himself laughing, groaning in agony holding his slightly distended stomach while Sam spluttered “No, his CAR, Alex. _ Baby.  _ All in chocolate. It has  _ headlights. _ ”

“Ohhhhh, well this I  _ must  _ see, then,” Alex agreed, his smile lighting up the night. 

“Sweet,” Dean said, pleased, as Sam finally grabbed the other end of Castiel’s enormous cooler and Alex shut Baby’s door for them and watched as they painstakingly kept it level step by step.

“We have beer and apple pie, too,” Dean offered, grunting, and Alex nodded, watching them make it to the top and lightly springing up the stairs behind the Winchesters, two at a time.

“I will say ‘si, gracias’ to una cervesa, and I will let Sam tell me all the things your Castiel made for you to eat, how is this?”

“Perfect,” Dean sighed, setting the cooler on his knee so he could maneuver his key into the lock. He grinned at Alex’s raised eyebrow, heaving the cooler back up off his knee to shove the door open with his hip.

“I know, I know. I just locked it to  _ suggest  _ José keep out of my oreos. He figured out my newest hiding spot, and I am  _ rationing _ those right now.” Dean grinned even wider. “Was. I’ll see if those boys want cake tomorrow morning, make it up to him.”

Alex snorted, crossing to the refrigerator to help himself to a beer while Sam and Dean maneuvered the cooler to the floor beside the table, but finding the refrigerator contained nothing but condiments, half a jar of pickle juice, and a saran-wrapped saucepan of white rice. He spun on his heel accusingly, but Dean was already reaching into the cooler to hand him a bottle, confused when Alex did not appear satisfied.

“Yo te hubiera ayudado,” Alex whispered. Dean’s forehead crinkled in confusion and Alex reached for the beer, accepted the opener from Sam. He took a long pull, wiped his lip on the back of his hand. “I would have helped,” he said quietly. “Manuel, too, Dean, solo tenias que preguntar.”

Sam melted out of the blast range, snaking his own beer to repair to the couch while Dean hung his head and fidgeted. 

“Thanks Alex. I, uh, I suck at asking.”

“Para mí también, eso es cierto. This is the price of being a man.” Alex grinned, clapped Dean on the shoulder, and maneuvered around the cooler to fold himself onto the couch next to Sam.

“Well, go on. ¿Qué comiste esta noche?” he teased, and Dean shook his head, laughing for sheer joy, as he bent over the cooler to lift out the Chocolate Baby and the torrent of words started to gush forth from Sam.

 

 


	42. Game Night

Castiel’s first Saturday potluck dinner and game night was a rousing success. The entire software team showed up. Even Jesse and Cesar brought a casserole and their adorable daughter Sofia, her jet-black hair done up in cheerful red ribbons. The two of them hung out for an hour or so, politely chatting and watching Sofia try the traditional American delicacy known as “Cheetos” for the first time, delicately accepting them in her chubby fists from everyone in turn and saying both “tank oo” _and “_ gracias” to a chorus of enthusiastic encouragement each time, before taking their leave as the eating slowed and the kitchen table was wiped down for laptops and ethernet cables and extension cords.

 

The trash talk grew thick and heated. Sam and Ash fell into a furious rivalry almost immediately that was eventually parlayed into both of them gunning for Anna, ganging up on her until everyone present - including Garth, who had to keep taking breaks for motion sickness - ganged up on Sam and Ash, murdering the everloving bejeezus out of them regardless of team colors, and making an indecipherable mess of the leaderboard.

 

The party broke up with laughter and arguments and demands for rematches, and Dean’s “little” brother Sam firmly assimilated into their midst as a kindred nerd spirit. Dean watched the animated conversations and the fond goodbyes and the glow on Castiel’s face with a soft smile on his lips, bending over to pull on his boots, and only when he straightened up again did he see that Anna had thrown her arms around Castiel and was squeezing him tight, her face pressed against his chest.

 

Castiel’s profile was silhouetted by the light in the living room archway behind him, his arms coming up to wrap around her in a way Dean was certain Cas had never done for one of _his_ hugs, his face leaning down, his eyes slipping closed, to gently press his lips to the top of her head for what felt like an eternity as Dean’s timeline ground to a halt, his stomach lurching, his heart hammering in his ears, the sudden tightness in his chest stealing his breath as Anna leaned back in Castiel’s arms in slow motion and smiled up at him, her eyes shining in the soft light as he smiled back at her, the open affection on his face twisting the knife currently lodged in Dean’s stomach.

 

Dean swallowed hard, pulled on his jacket, and grabbed his laptop bag to make his own hasty exit behind Anna, thanking Castiel over his shoulder for a wonderful evening and bolting to wait in Baby while Sam collected the rest of his crap and joined him a minute or so behind, too jazzed about the evening to notice if Dean was acting a little strange.

 

Dean was silent for several minutes after pulling Baby out into traffic, brooding. He sighed a couple times but Sam didn’t notice, his laptop open in his lap, typing up some paper or other. Finally Dean just came out and asked his burning question.

 

“So, you figure Cas and Anna ever dated?” Dean asked, pretending at casual.

 

“What?” Sam asked, looking up from his screen.

 

“Anna and Castiel. You think they ever dated?”

 

Sam stared at Dean incredulously for several beats, Baby purring away as Dean stared out the windshield, his casual tone completely failing to hide his obvious jealousy from Sam for even a second. The only possible question was who he was more jealous of.

 

“Dean, Cas is gay.”  

 

“What? Why would you think that?” Dean spluttered, as Sam’s incredulity ratcheted up a notch.

 

“Uh, well, let’s see, he’s hot, he’s athletic, he’s a single bachelor, and he lives in San Francisco?” Sam listed his bullet points rapid-fire, ticking them off on his fingers as he listed them.

 

“SO?” Dean exclaimed.

 

“He covered his eyes and blushed when we changed.”

 

“Maybe he’s a prude!”

 

“His father kicked him out for ‘religious differences.’”

 

That one was harder. Dean mulled it over for a while. “Maybe he just rejected the family religion, doesn’t have to be about sex, Sam. Religions are complicated.”

 

“He flirted with Alex,” Sam countered, the discussion over as far as he was concerned. He turned his eyes back to his laptop.

 

Dean remembered exactly the day Sam was talking about. He thought about the way Alejandro had raked his eyes over Castiel’s body, the way Cas had lifted an eyebrow in challenge, unselfconscious, but more than that, completely aware - comfortable with - the effect his body had on certain other men. “I can be hard to resist,” he had told Dean, smiling. He knew his power. Dean felt a flood of jealousy at the recollection and clamped it down, hard.

 

“We all kinda flirt with Alex!” Dean protested weakly.

 

“No,” Sam replied flatly, “no, _we_ don’t. YOU do. You, and Cas, that one time before you frowned at Alex for flirting with him.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean muttered, cornered.

 

“Mmm Hmm.” Sam rolled his eyes so hard Dean could practically hear it.

 

Moments passed in silence, Sam typing away at his paper.

 

Hadn’t Castiel said he wasn’t gay when they’d had lunch before Thanksgiving? Dean pored over his recollection of the conversation carefully. Cas had asked if he minded being taken for a gay couple and he’d brushed it off, asked if Cas minded. There had been that pause when he thought Cas was going to be upset with him for letting the waitress slide with her assumption… and then Cas had said he wasn’t uncomfortable, that he was… used to it, just... usually by himself. Dean examined the memory from every angle but Castiel had never actually denied that he was gay, nor had he confirmed that he was straight. He had just… let Dean believe what he wanted to. Dean winced. If Cas _was_ gay that long pause might have been him trying to decide if Dean could be trusted with the information, and it hurt to worry Cas was afraid of what he might think.

 

Dean couldn’t drop it, chewing on his lip and frowning his way through months’ worth of recollections and finally protesting  “But… but I’ve never seen Cas so much as glance at any guys at the bar or anywhere, I mean I’m always looking at the girls and Cas never looks at dudes!”

 

Sam looked up from his laptop then, staring at Dean evenly. “Do you even hear yourself right now? You’ve never seen Cas look at a dude? He’s only got eyes for one dude, Dean.”

 

The hair on Dean’s arms stood upright and ripples of gooseflesh raced around to the back of his neck with the realization. “Me,” he whispered softly. “He looks at me.”

 

“Yeah.” Sam nodded. “He looks at you, Dean. Only you.” He shook his head and returned his attention to his laptop. “I thought you knew.”

 

Dean was stunned silent, his mind churning, reevaluating every interaction, every moment he could ever remember spending with Cas.

 

Castiel never touched him. Even if sometimes Dean could feel the weight of Castiel's glance curl around his chest like a physical caress. Dean shivered a little at the sense memory, and thought hard. Beyond those first panic attacks, Dean could not remember a single instance where Castiel had ever been the one to reach out, ever touched his arm or his shoulder, ever stepped into his personal space. On those few occasions Dean had hugged Cas to offer comfort, Cas didn't really even hug back.

 

And yet… he remembered vividly the handful of times he had put his hand on Cas’s hand, or on his bare arm, how they both stared at the point of contact. Maybe it wasn’t just his imagination, feeling that electricity passing between them, maybe Cas felt it too. Cas never leaned into him when Dean crowded him in his kitchen, secretly reveling in the closeness, but there were times Dean could swear he could feel Cas wanting him to lean in.

 

Dean guiltily thought about New Year’s Eve, the way Cas had sighed and nestled against his cock in his sleep - he felt a pulse of arousal at the memory and shook his head, fought it down. Cas was asleep; he didn’t know who was behind him. Okay in retrospect that might be a point for Sam’s original argument he was definitely never going to admit to, but Cas could have been dreaming about anyone. There was no smoking gun interaction he could point to as any sort of proof, no “Aha” moment that would point to Cas wanting _him_.

 

But… what if he did? Dean felt a frisson of electricity ripple through him at the possibility, and grabbed at the underlying feeling as it surfaced and tried to dive back under his subconscious, turned it over in his mind. He threw up some interrogation lights and tied it to a chair, wriggling, as it threw its tiny hands over its face, refused to cooperate. He stared at it, the oncoming lights on the highway becoming part of his internal monologue, the _feeling_ pinned to a chair suddenly bright and glowing and beautiful. “What ARE YOU?” He demanded. It reminded him of Castiel’s smile. As he thought of Castiel’s smile the thing grew too bright to look at, suffusing him with the feeling of soft warm victory he felt on those rare occasions he could make Cas laugh.  

 

Dean groaned and shook his head to clear it, banishing the feeling back to his subconscious and ending the metaphorical line of questioning abruptly. He didn’t know how to think about something like this; he didn’t even know how to approach it. This felt big, important, _fucking terrifying_ , actually. If one thing was for goddamn sure, if he was gonna go down this road, if he was going to admit something this daunting to himself -  or to anyone else for that matter - he didn’t want a hookup. He didn’t want to say goodbye the next morning and never see Cas again, he couldn’t even bear the thought. He wanted to see him the next day, and the day after that too. He didn’t even know what you called that.

 

“You’re in love with him, Dean,” Sam explained gently, after watching him carefully for god knew how long. “I thought you knew.”

 

“I’m in love with him,” Dean breathed softly, astonished. “I didn’t know.”

 

He chanced a glance at Sam, tendrils of fear Sam might disapprove, or worse, be disappointed in him suddenly curling around his heart, but Sam’s gaze was steady, his smile soft and fond. Dean’s shoulders unconsciously relaxed, and he looked back at the road, a quiet smile playing around his lips.  They rode the rest of the way in companionable silence, Dean’s mind finally at ease, his heart so full it felt like only the tight cage of his ribs was keeping it from bursting all over Baby's gently glowing dash.

 

 


	43. One Thursday in March

Dean bent over his shot, sinking it flawlessly, but feeling none of Castiel’s familiar attention anywhere on his person. When he glanced up in disappointment, the entire software team was huddled over their table peering at each other’s phones, just like they had been the last several Thursdays running. It was hardly pool night if they were all going to keep working. 

 

Worse, and far more relevant to Dean’s interests, it was impossible to spend enough time with Castiel to get a read on his possible  _ feelings _ when he was working eighty hours a week.  Dean blew out a breath, running a hand through his hair, and shook his head no thank you to another game with Mike, who slapped him on the shoulder cheerfully and returned to his post behind the bar.  _ Sugar Tonight  _ was a ghost town this evening.

 

Castiel felt him and looked up as Dean returned his pool cue to the wall rack, a microexpression of crestfallen disappointment fleeting over Castiel’s face before his features settled into an apologetic half-smile. Dean shrugged, vaguely mollified, and wandered over to inquire as to how the huge software push was going.

 

Not well, as it turned out, at least if their faces were any indication.

 

“Explain to me one more time why you guys are making a whole second website? No one looks at websites on their phones,” Dean grumped, pulling up a chair, and Anna turned to him with a smile.

 

“ _ Yet,  _ Dean. The smartphone market share is tiny right now, but it’s not going to stay tiny, and early trends are already alarming. We just want to be ready to ride the wave, and if we can get there first - and corner the market on this service while we’re at it - we are all going to make  _ a lot _ of money when we go public.”

 

“She’s not wrong,” Ash chimed in, waving his phone in front of Dean’s face. He had a newer Motorola, and Dean could see that the company home page menu was all sorts of fucked up, covering half the screen.

 

“It doesn’t do that on mine,” Castiel protested, and they were back in a huddle, glaring at each other’s phones and taking notes again. Dean sighed, drained his beer, and Castiel looked up in apology as he stood up to go. 

 

“I’m  _ so sorry _ , Dean - “

 

“Do you need to cancel Friday dinner again to work late, Cas?” Dean’s tone was mild, but Castiel winced, shaking his head vigorously.

 

“No. I’m not doing that again, not another Friday.” He hesitated, his eyes searching Dean’s face before continuing, his voice so soft Dean could barely hear him above the background chatter of the rest of the software team. “I’ve missed you boys so much I can’t bear to stand in my own kitchen.”

 

Dean’s face softened, the set of his lips subtly changing from hurt resignation to a gentle fondness that made Castiel’s eyes glisten in the dim light as Dean leaned down to speak for his ears only.

 

“Sam and I have been completely grumpy assholes to each other for three weekends running, Cas. We miss you so much we can’t stand it.” He gripped Castiel’s shoulder briefly as Cas stared up at him, his lower lip practically trembling. Dean smiled softly, squeezed Castiel’s shoulder in parting, and then he was gone, striding rapidly out of the bar. 

 

Castiel glanced at the clock. It wasn’t even eight. His heart hurt at being such lousy company for Dean, but Anna elbowed him, glancing up from her laptop, demanded he refresh the booking page again, and he was instantly absorbed, adding his phone to the array on the table so they could all compare and contrast.

 

 


	44. The Very Next Friday In March

Dean took a rare half-day on Friday to pick Sam up early after his last exam, Sam’s plans to hang out with his friends on Friday to celebrate immediately superseded by Dean’s welcome news the previous evening that Friday dinner with Cas was back on.

 

They compromised by Dean easily agreeing to take Sam and Sarah to lunch, and to let Sam have the car Saturday night so he could go out unhindered by his big brother - but only after promising on threat of instant death that  _ of course  _ he would drive sober.

 

Dean pulled up in front of the library to find Sam and Sarah waiting for him on the bench with a proposal.

 

“Park Baby on the street, Dean, Sarah and I want to show you the meal hall,” Sam wheedled, Sarah’s face joining his in Dean’s driver side window to join the pleading, her smile bright and gorgeous and her eyes sparkling.

 

“Come on, Dean,” she urged, ”Sam and I think you need to see it and I have a  _ shitload  _ of points I didn’t use that are just going to be wasted. They don’t roll over.”

 

Dean’s eyes widened at the usury and Sarah nodded.  

“Sam helped, but I just don’t eat three squares. Come  _ on,  _ Dean, they have  _ sushi  _ on Fridays _.” _

 

Dean grinned up at the two of them, shaking his head.

 

“I guess I’m just a sucker for a pretty smile,” he teased, “and you’re not half-bad either, Sarah.”

 

“HEY!” Sam spluttered, scowling while Sarah giggled, but Dean was already pulling forward to hunt out street parking, feeling overdressed as hell in his suit and tie as he joined them in their jeans and tee shirts on foot to follow them to the dining hall, located what seemed like a solid mile away by the time they arrived at the sprawling building Sam and Sarah led him to.

 

Dean blew out a breath, wincing as he ascended the several steps so Sarah could present her card to the cashier. Sam glanced at Dean’s wool suit jacket, now slung over his arm, and then down at Dean’s dress shoes, and his face fell. 

 

“Aww, sorry, man, I didn’t think about that Sarah and I are wearing sneakers - “

 

“I’m not a bitch, Sam.”

 

Sam snorted. “That’s cuz you’re a jerk.”

  
Dean elbowed Sam gently in the ribs and Sam went to punch Dean in the stomach and Sarah turned around, eyebrows raised, hands on her hips, and two men twice her size instantly snapped to attention to follow her meekly inside the hall of immovable feasting.

  
  


***

 

The dining hall was nearly empty, and Sam made a disappointed noise at the selection while Dean’s eyes simultaneously bugged out of his head at his vast array of lunch choices. Dean went for pizza  _ and  _ a burger  _ and  _ fries  _ and  _ coffee  _ and  _ fountain soda, while Sam piled his plate high with all the sushi that was left after politely waiting for Sarah to add a few pieces to her plate beside her salad, managing to load a second plate with a couple slices of pizza.

 

“There’s usually so much more stuff,” Sam complained, mouth full, “but it’s just before break so there’s only a couple places on campus open today.”

 

“At least they still had the sushi you wanted,” Dean shrugged, trying his pizza. It wasn’t bad at all, and he nodded his approval, chewing with gusto.

 

“Like an appetizer’s worth,” Sam huffed, sliding out of the booth from where he was parking Sarah in to go get another plate.

 

Dean watched Sarah’s gaze follow Sam fondly, and he caught her eye as she turned back towards her plate.

 

“I’m getting the impression you’ve been feeding Sam more than I realized, Sarah,” Dean said quietly, his lip quirking as Sarah smiled across the table at him and shrugged. “I can’t reimburse you right now, but in a couple more weeks I should be able to at least -”

 

“That’s not necessary, Dean,” Sarah protested, shaking her head. “The meal plans are mandatory but it’s a racket, seriously, Sam’s just been helping me get my Dad’s money’s worth.”  Sarah’s smile widened as Dean’s forehead furrowed and he waved a French Fry at her.

 

“Are you  _ sure?  _ Doesn’t feel right, letting the lady pay - “

 

“It’s been my pleasure, Dean.”

 

“What’s been your pleasure?” Sam asked, sliding back in beside Sarah, his new plate loaded down with a giant salad, topped with half a dozen - nope, wait, only five, Dean realized as he counted under his breath, one was just cut in half - hard-boiled eggs.

 

“Helping you ace your finals,” Sarah answered smoothly, “I was  _ instrumental,  _ I  _ know _ it.”

 

“You were,” Sam agreed immediately, grinning down at her. “Plus you caught stuff in my papers I totally missed.” He popped a whole egg in his mouth, swallowed it well before it could possibly be entirely chewed.

 

“Jeez, Sam,” Dean observed mildly, “I hope you returned the favor, in between acing those finals. Proud of you. But Dude,  _ five  _ eggs? Seriously?”

 

“He does,” Sarah promised. “Sam is really good at research. He can find stuff in a library faster than the librarians, and he’s better and faster at annotating than anyone I’ve ever met. He’s been a godsend to our whole study group.” She grinned up at Sam, who beamed at her before turning back to Dean.

 

“Six. I ate one on the way over.”

 

“Jesus.”

 

Dean glanced at his empty plate, and his eyes traveled across Sam’s rapidly emptying plate, noted Sarah’s empty plate. He grinned at Sarah, reached out with an air of finality to collect his plate and empty beverages, but Sarah gently shook her head no. Dean’s head tilted in confusion until Sam slid out of the booth again, his face filled with singular purpose.

 

“How long do you let him do this?” Dean grinned at Sarah, and she laughed out loud, beaming up at him across the table.

 

“If I have time I like to study and let him tire himself out,” she giggled, eyes sparkling. “He’s just showing off for you right now though, most days two or three plates’ll do him.”

 

“That’s because I’ve been packing him a lunch,” Dean observed wryly, and Sarah’s face lit up with incredulity as she started laughing for real.

 

“What’s so funny?” Sam demanded, sliding back into the booth with a turkey club sandwich and chips this time.

 

“How much you can eat,” Dean answered, rolling his eyes. “Now shove that in your face and we are leaving, capice?”

 

“No ice cream?” Sam’s mouth was entirely full, but Dean was perfectly fluent in full-mouth Sam and his resolve visibly cracked.

 

“There’s ice cream?”

 

“A Sundae bar,” Sarah answered, smiling. “Let me out, Sam, I’m taking Dean out for ice cream.”

 

Sam slid out of the bench seat of the booth, still bent over holding his sandwich in both hands over his plate the entire time, and Sarah slid out to offer Dean her hand.

 

“This way, Dean.”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean nodded, his face terribly serious, and Sarah beamed at him as she tugged him over to the ice cream bar.

 

Dean took one look at the stack of dainty bowls beside the ice cream and circled back to get a pasta bowl, returning triumphantly to load it down with six kinds of ice cream and marshmallows and chocolate sprinkles while Sarah shook her head and laughed, her face lighting up with delighted affection to see Sam breathlessly arriving, pasta bowl already in hand, to do the same.

  
  


***

  
  


The goodbye hug Sarah gave Sam lasted long enough that Dean turned away awkwardly, looking anywhere but towards them in case there was going to be kissing, too, only to be nearly knocked off his feet by Sarah’s tackle hug. He let out an “Oomf,” brought up an arm to hug back, as she tiptoed up and pulled him down to whisper in his ear.

 

“You’re a really great Dad, Dean.”

 

“I’m not a Dad, Sarah,” Dean whispered back, grinning down at her, and she let go to punch his arm and whisper up at him, eyes shining, “You are in all the ways that matter.”

 

She twirled on her heels, her hair spinning out in a glossy arc, and jogged away, disappearing around the corner of the nearest building before either Sam or Dean stopped watching her, turning to each other, speechless, and then falling into lockstep to go collect Baby.

 

“That was a hell of a hug Sarah gave you,” Dean observed, pulling away from the curb. “Aren’t you gonna see her tomorrow night?”

 

“Nope,” Sam sighed, “she’s visiting family in New York for most of the week and then she’ll come back while we’re in Vegas to get her roommate settled in - she’s apparently been on a semester abroad and they still managed to stay roommates somehow. I’ve never seen her so excited. Her best friend from High School.”

 

“That’s sweet,” Dean said. “I’m taking us home first so I can shower and change, and then don’t let me forget the cooler in case we get something cold. I said we’d do the shopping since Cas is so busy, but Cas said you can have his turn to pick dinner, and I quote, ‘Since it’s such an auspicious day in your academic calendar.’”

 

“Sweet.” Sam’s fingers drummed on Baby’s seat for a minute or so, and then he turned to Dean, beaming.

 

“Oh! A couple weeks ago the cafeteria made these grilled fish tacos with a cilantro and lime red cabbage coleslaw - “

 

“Blow me, Sam.”

 

“I thought we were discussing a meal, not a mini marshmallow - “

 

“Oh, did I say that out loud? My bad, I meant ‘I implore you to reconsider. Perhaps a meal normal humans would actually enjoy putting in their mouths.’”

 

“FINE.”

 

Dean sighed, extended an olive branch.  “I’ll take you to a salad bar in Vegas. An all-you-can-eat one, for as long as you want to keep chewing.”

 

“Really?” Sam’s face was pleased, fury replaced with delight.

 

“Yeah, I promise. Now try for something that won’t make me gag, please?”

 

“Fiiine.”

  
  


***

  
  


When Sam and Dean arrived at Castiel’s house, exactly on time, armloads of groceries between them, Castiel did not answer the doorbell.

 

“Are we early?” Dean asked, worried, and Sam shook his head. 

 

“No, we’re exactly on time. It’s seven on the dot. Try the door? Maybe he’s in the bathroom.”

 

The doorknob turned and Dean stepped inside, calling softly “Cas? Are you home?” but there was no answer. They dropped the groceries on the kitchen table and set about kind of guiltily looking - knocking on the downstairs bathroom, calling up the stairwell, but the house felt empty. It wasn’t until Sam glanced out the back door that he called “Found him,” his voice soft, and when Dean joined him to look he understood why.

 

Castiel was sitting on his stone bench in the late sun, chin sagging forward on his chest, shoulders slumped, definitely sound asleep. Sam slid the door open as quietly as he could, sliding it silently shut behind them, and two men snuck down the deck stairs as quietly as mice to crunch across the gravel and sit on either side of Castiel, Dean with barely a couple inches of ass cheek on the bench as they leaned into Castiel, his eyes blinking open and his face lighting up brighter than the evening sun, just starting to slip behind the bamboo fence, to find the Winchesters beside him.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry guys, I must have fallen asleep - “

 

“Duh.” Sam’s smile was fond, but his glance traveled to the dark circles under Castiel’s eyes and his forehead furrowed, glancing at Dean to see if he’d noticed too. Dean was studying Castiel’s face affectionately, the exhaustion on it melting into pleasure as he turned to Dean, pressed against him from ass to shoulder, the heat of Dean’s body burning against his side, to smile back.

 

“You look beat,” Dean murmured. “Let us cook for you. Sam’s on break, right Sam?”

 

Sam nodded eagerly, but Castiel’s face fell, and Dean rocked into him with his shoulder companionably, watching his face carefully. “Yes? No? Is Timmy down the well, boy?”

 

Castiel snorted, stifling a yawn under his hand. “I was looking forward to cooking,” he sighed, “but if Sam really wants to -”

 

“No, I’m good,” Sam grinned, “No worries. Hey, isn’t that our Christmas orchid?”

 

Dean followed Sam’s glance across the tiny pond, and there she was, resplendent on a new rough-cut marble pedestal, sitting on raked gravel where there had been an orchid in the ground before. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed walking over to greet Castiel. She was striking in the sunset, and Dean stood up, stretching, to step around the pond so he could look at her more closely, studying her new name tag, written out in the pleasing cursive script of Castiel’s careful hand.

 

Lord Byron joined Dean at the edge of his pond to blow bubbles accusingly and Dean glanced down in surprise, the flash of orange a gorgeous counterpoint to the orchid’s dark purple blossoms cascading down to the edge of the pond, the waning sunlight disappearing into her colors even though she wasn’t in shadow.

 

“The boys here were the only denizens of the garden she couldn’t seem to shame by comparison,” Castiel explained softly, smiling up at Dean as Dean turned to ask.

 

“What did you name her?” 

 

Castiel’s gaze was shy, slipping from Dean’s face to the orchid as he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

 

“Amara. I named her Amara.”

 

Dean turned to study Amara carefully, reaching out to caress a leaf reverently.  “That’s lovely, Cas. Does she have a last name?”

 

“No. Just Amara.”

 

Dean tore his eyes away from Amara and turned back to Castiel, his entire attention on Castiel’s soft smile, completely missing Sam’s hand coming up to cover a delighted smile of his own as he watched the two of them beam at each other.

 

“Like Cher,” Dean murmured.

 

“Sure,” Castiel answered easily, covering his mouth to yawn before lithely unfolding from the bench to crunch onto the gravel, his hand palm up, inviting his guests towards the staircase. ”Like Cher. Shall we?”

 

The three of them crunched their way across the gravel, Castiel handing Sam the rake with a smile without him even having to start a pout, and Dean and Castiel watched Sam finish raking from the deck above him, leaning on the bannister, shoulders very nearly touching. Amara was gorgeous even from up here, and Castiel let out a soft sigh, admiring her.

 

“How’s work going?” Dean asked gently, and Castiel shook his head, sighing for real.

 

“I’ve barely slept in days, Dean, and the moment we’re done with dinner I have to get right back to it. I’d prefer not to think about that for the next hour if that’s alright?”

 

“Of course,” Dean soothed apologetically, “I’m sorry, Cas.”

 

“It’s okay,” Castiel whispered, turning to smile at Sam as he bounded up the stairs. “What’s for dinner, Sam?”

 

“Fish and Chips!” Sam declared enthusiastically, “and crab cakes on lettuce wraps!” He pushed his way into the living room, Castiel and Dean behind him, and the three of them headed into the kitchen as Castiel shook his head.

 

“That sounds like Dean chose it,” Castiel observed wryly, and Dean snorted as Sam answered smoothly.

 

“We compromised.”

 

“I saved you, Cas,” Dean declared firmly, stepping to the table to start unloading groceries; white fish and russet potatoes and lettuce and canned crab meat and scallions and tartar sauce. “I bribed him with the promise of an all-you-can-eat salad buffet next week in Vegas.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Castiel was already scrubbing potatoes in the sink but he looked up at the mention of Vegas, his face wistful.

 

Dean glanced at him, his face falling at Castiel’s expression. “Yeah, sorry Cas, we can’t make it next Friday, it’s Sam’s Spring Break and kind of a tradition. I’m taking Thursday and Friday off to make it a long weekend.” Dean glanced at Sam and they conferred silently for not even an entire second, Sam stepping up to make the offer.

 

“You’re welcome to come with us if you like, Cas.” Sam glanced at Dean and continued thoughtfully, “You’d have to get your own room though - or we could ask for a cot or something -  we got a double and Dean and I can’t share anymore - “

 

“You got huge, Sam,” Dean grinned at his brother over the kitchen table, currently draped over a backwards kitchen chair, and then turned to stage whisper to Cas, “It’s not just that he hogs the covers. The _stench_ that come out of him, Cas. I can’t, I just can’t. He _wakes me_ _up._ ”

 

“HEY!”

 

“SHOW ME THE LIE, SAM.”

 

Castiel’s face was still wistful, but the soft smile playing across his lips at the invitation and playful banter took the edge off. “I remember from the day you brought me Amara,” he agreed gravely, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

 

“That was just because of the empanadas -”   
  


“Yeah, suuure it was, that’s the  _ ooonly  _ time it happens,” Dean countered, laughing, as he dropped his freshly minced green onions into the bowl with the crab meat and egg and breadcrumbs and spices. “Cas, can you get the deep fryer heating? You’re totally welcome to stay with us if you want to come though...” 

 

Castiel shook his head sadly, crouching down to lift the deep fryer out of a low cabinet and set it on the counter. He stepped around Dean to get to the cabinet with the jug of oil and fill the fryer to its indicator line before plugging it in and flicking it on and turning to face Dean again.

 

“I can’t, Dean, although I very much appreciate the two of you inviting me.” Castiel sighed heavily, turning back to the cutting board where he was turning potatoes into perfectly uniform french fries. “I’m not a huge fan of Vegas,” he admitted, “I was just jealous of the idea of a vacation. I haven’t had a day off in three weeks.”

 

“ _ Jesus, Cas, _ ” Dean exclaimed, turning to stare at him in horror, “No wonder we haven’t seen you in weeks. I’m so sorry -”

 

“Yeah, that  _ sucks,  _ Cas,” Sam chimed in, his forehead creased in empathy.

 

“I’ll survive. We’re almost there; I might take a couple hours off on Sunday so I can sleep in an extra hour and go for a run.” Castiel’s face went slightly wicked, turning to look at Dean, who was still staring at him in horrified sympathy. “At least it’s not your fault this time, Dean.”

 

Sam spit himself laughing while Dean’s horror ratcheted up a notch. “Wait, was it this bad when I - “

 

“An order of magnitude worse. But don’t worry about it, you’ve been doing just fine.” Cas waved a hand at Dean dismissively, turning back to his fries. “Better than fine, Dean, you’re the best salesman we’ve got now, and we did this to ourselves with the arbitrary deadline. You’ll have some great promotions to roll out in a few weeks, that beautiful synergy Anna is always mooning over.”  He grinned fondly at mentioning Anna, and Dean snorted, dropping three crab cakes in the hot oil and stepping back reflexively as they popped and hissed.

 

“She said something about synergy and IPO babies when I first started,” Dean recalled, accepting the cookie sheet of fries and handing Cas the head of lettuce to rinse. “I remember, because my entire body kind of froze in terror when she said the word ‘babies.’”

 

Castiel snickered, patting three lettuce leaves dry and setting them on small plates to receive the crab cakes in a minute. “I bet.” Castiel retrieved a little bowl from the dishware cabinet to pour some of the tartar sauce into it and set it on the table. He dipped a pinky in to taste it, smirking at Sam who was just reaching to do the same, and turned back to Dean.

 

“I am very much looking forward to our IPO, Dean.”

 

Dean caught the tail end of Sam dipping his pinky in to taste the tartar sauce and shook his head, scowling. “Dude, can’t you ever pretend we have manners?”

 

“Cas did it first!” Sam tattled, and Castiel shrugged, grinning, as Dean turned to gape at him in surprise while Sam continued, “We’re rubbing off on Cas instead of the other way around!”

 

“Okay, first of all, no one is rubbing off on anyone, and second of all, Cas how do you even  _ like _ tartar sauce, you hate pickles!”

 

Castiel‘s eyes were wide, his cheeks furiously pink, and Sam’s ridiculous smirk gave Dean pause for a moment as his brain re-parsed the last few sentences, and he rolled his eyes and turned away to conceal his own rising flush. His crab cakes were floating high in the oil and he reached for the slotted metal spoon, scooping them out one by one and setting the perfectly browned crispy patties on a paper towel to drain for a minute.

 

“What’re you two, twelve?” Dean muttered, checking his index card before measuring flour into a bowl and stepping to the refrigerator to collect an El Sol for his batter. He flipped the top off with his keyring opener, took a long pull, and grabbed a second one for the batter, motioning to the fryer with a tilt of his head.

 

“Can you drop a batch of fries, Cas, set the timer, and we can eat the crab cakes while they’re down?”

 

“Of course, Dean.” Castiel’s flush was mostly managed, and he grinned at Dean before carefully laying a single layer of fries in the basket and lowering it into the oil, setting the timer and collecting three sets of silverware to join Sam and Dean at the table. 

 

“Tartar sauce contains more ingredients than relish, and the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, Dean.”

 

“Mmm Hmm.” 

 

The crab cakes were delicious, entirely devoured well before the timer went off, and Dean leaned back with a sigh to suck back a little more El Sol, his gaze lost in the middle distance.

 

“I wish you’d come with us, Cas,” Sam sighed, glancing at Dean’s thousand-yard stare and then back to Castiel’s face. “I bet you’re great at poker.”

 

Castiel smiled, leaping up to grab a cookie sheet and paper towels for the fries as the timer went off and turning back to Sam only after he’d salted this batch, turned on the oven, and dropped another batch in the oil.

 

“I doubt it, Sam. I’m never quite sure what my face is doing.”

 

“Yeah, but I bet you read people pretty well.” 

 

Castiel shrugged, his eyes darting to Dean, currently slicing fish into fillets at the counter, and coming back to meet Sam’s eyes before answering. “That‘s a crap shoot, Sam. Sometimes yes, sometimes no; it depends on the person.”

 

“You could shoot some craps, then.”

 

Castiel laughed, reaching for Sam’s empty appetizer plate, which Sam handed over with a smile.

 

“Next time, then,” Castiel agreed softly, his voice somehow small and shy.

 

“Yeah?” Sam’s face lit up, and Castiel beamed at him, his face terribly fond.

 

“Yeah.”

 

When Castiel turned to glance at Dean again, Dean was watching them, his lips quirked in a look Castiel could not decipher. 

 

“I can teach you how to have a poker face, Cas.”

 

“You think so?”

 

“I know so.” Dean turned back to his fish and beer batter, his smirk confident. “You’re a natural, Cas, I know it.” He lifted the second batch of fries and added them to the paper towel, salting them and then frowning at the amount before stepping back to fork out a fish fillet and hold it up for a second, dripping. “Can you pop those in the oven, Cas? I’ll do the fish and then make more fries for Sam after we eat the first round together.”

 

Sam‘s small, pleased noise was absolutely endearing, and the small, delighted looks Dean and Castiel shared to hear it made Dean’s chest feel so tight he had to hold his breath and break the eye contact to contain it.

  
  


***

  
  


It was barely nine when Sam and Dean took their leave, Castiel’s reluctance to see them go at obvious war with his desperate need to get back to work. They insisted on doing the dishes first, Castiel tapping away at his laptop at the kitchen table so he could hang out with them, his attention slowly absorbed into the machine until he wasn’t really there with them anymore, leaping up to wish them goodbye when they stepped up to loom over him to let him know they were heading out. The Winchesters leaned into him, one on each side, to murmur their thanks and best wishes on getting the project done soon, and to smile in wistful solidarity as he sighed heavily and thanked them for dinner.

 

For once Sam didn’t open his laptop on the drive home, rolling down his window to stare out at the passing lights, and Dean unrolled his a little to stop the buffeting, content to listen to the sounds of the night without turning on the radio. A few miles in he remembered a question, and cleared his throat to ask it, his forehead furrowed in curiosity as he stared at the oncoming headlights.

 

“Hey, Sam?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Do you know what poet is named Amara? What kind of poems they write?”

 

The slowly spreading smirk on Sam’s face was a thing of beauty, and Dean could feel it even before he turned to look at Sam’s face.

 

“Well?”

 

“Dean, there’s no poet.”

 

“What do you mean? How can you know that?”

 

“It’s from the latin ’amāre.’ For ‘I love.’ Like ‘Sweetheart,’ or ‘Beloved.’ Pretty sure.”

 

“Really? That’s kind of nice,” Dean sighed, turning back to the road, and Sam’s smile widened as he stared at the side Dean’s face.

 

“Dean.”

 

“What?”

 

“He named her after Baby.”

 

Dean was speechless for a very long time and silent even longer than that, staring at the road without really seeing it, his heart in his throat and his bottom lip firmly clamped between his teeth.

 

 


	45. Vegas

It was pushing dinnertime on a Thursday when Dean rolled Baby up the Vegas strip, gleaming and gorgeous after the touchless car wash he’d insisted on taking her through, despite Sam’s whining that he was huuungry and could they just  _ get there  _ already. Dean had changed into a work suit in the gas station bathroom, too, somehow, and Sam rolled his eyes in impatience as Dean took it slow, rolled his window down despite the hot air readily flowing into the cabin, grinning out the window at anyone who looked his way.

 

“Sam. Follow my lead, okay?” Dean was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel with anticipation, and Sam turned to him in alarm.

 

“Wait, what?  _ Why?  _ What are you gonna do? _ ” _

 

“Relax. Nothing major. Just… follow my lead.” 

 

Sam huffed and glared, but he nodded sullenly, and Dean grinned at him, reaching to pop out his Metallica cassette and turn the radio knob until he found a classical station. He turned it up and Sam stared at him, his mouth falling open, as Dean smoothed his face and pulled Baby up in front of the Sahara, gunning her a little as he roared up to the valet station. 

 

Dean leapt out of Baby, mirrored sunglasses on, strode around to the back to open her trunk. Sam shouldered his backpack and Dean shouldered his laptop case, then he pulled out a garment bag and the rolling carryon Sam hadn’t even know he owned before he’d packed it in Baby yesterday. He shoved both peremptorily at Sam, who almost dropped the garment bag in surprise as Dean spun on his heel to toss his keys to the valet, slipping him a twenty and a beaming salesman smile.

 

Sam steeled his face, long years of training under Dad kicking in as he followed Dean inside, struggling to maneuver both of their luggage, and stopped at the velvet rope when Dean flashed him a look. Dean stepped slightly forward to beam charmingly at the front desk clerk, even as Sam watched Dean’s nose wrinkle in distaste as he glanced around the admittedly somewhat fading glory of the Casino’s decor. 

 

“This old girl’s seen better days. Well, we’re already here,” Dean shot over his shoulder at Sam, plenty loud enough to carry, “Might as well make the best of it.” Sam’s eyes widened slightly as Dean stepped forward without waiting for the clerk to invite him, pulling off his sunglasses one-handed to tuck one arm douchily in the pocket of his suit, the reflective silver lenses hanging outside the pocket.

 

“And how are you today, sir?” the clerk asked brightly. His hair was perfect, and his teeth were very white.

 

“I’ve been better,” Dean complained, shrugging. He dropped his voice, but Sam could still hear him and he fought to keep his face straight as Dean shot the tiniest glare in his direction and admitted to the clerk, “I had to  _ bring my intern _ , the boss insisted.  Hoping to blow off some steam before I have to meet my clients, though. Dean Winchester. How’s that suite looking?”

Sam could see Dean reaching into his wallet to pull out his platinum  _ company  _ business card that he’d  _ better  _ not be charging their room to, sliding it along with a twenty to the desk clerk, who was reaching for it eagerly to slide the twenty under his paperwork even as he typed into the computer to check on Dean’s reservation, his face falling as he looked back up at Dean’s expectant impatience.

 

“I have a queen _room_ for you, sir, not a suite…”

 

Dean’s flash of rage before he smoothed his face looked so  _ entirely _ real that Sam’s blanching was not an act as Dean turned to him and demanded, quietly seething, “Did you not book a  _ suite,  _ Sam?”

 

Sam stammered “N-no sir, I thought you said a queen?” but Dean wasn’t looking at him anymore, he was smoothly reaching for his corporate credit card, tucking it back into his wallet before the desk clerk could use it, his face so much like Dad’s when he was angry that Sam felt a twinge of longing under the reflexive fear on his face as Dean hissed at the clerk,”I will _not_ be sleeping in the _same_ _room_ as my intern. Please call for my car _immediately,_ I’ll go blow off steam up the strip. _You_ keep the intern.”

 

Dean was spinning on his heel, Sam’s mouth falling open in shock for real, and now the clerk was begging him not to go, signaling for help, a manager swooping in to assure Mister Winchester they would find him a suite, please, stay with us Mister Winchester, we’ll comp the room, just won’t you please gamble with  _ us _ . Someone brought Dean a bourbon, someone else offered him a cigar, and he accepted both, draining the bourbon in one angry gulp, accepting a light for the cigar and letting his feathers be unruffled by degrees, all of them ignoring Sam entirely as he tried valiantly not to gape at Dean’s one-man show. 

 

Dean graciously let himself be cajoled into staying, scowling in Sam’s general direction now and then. He let himself be comped a suite and dinner tickets at their buffet besides, slowly allowing the visible tension in his angry shoulders to deflate, and eventually letting the attentive staff earn a reluctant, utterly gorgeous smile, which Sam  _ watched  _ ripple over the clerk and the manager as tangible relief, bashful success creeping across their faces as real pleasure, and Sam suddenly had to fight his own face not to let his eyes roll so hard he’d never get them back. 

 

Sam followed obediently when Dean glared at him and stepped towards the elevators, blowing out a theatrically huge cloud of smoke before stepping inside the first elevator to open without looking to see if Sam was following or offering to help in any way with the luggage. Sam struggled his way into the elevator behind Dean, head down, and waited until the doors closed to cough in disgust.

 

Dean kept a straight face, his eyes sliding past the cameras, and he did not help with his luggage, his eyes twinkling at Sam under his theatrically furrowed brow.

 

“You smell disgusting,” Sam muttered without moving his lips.

 

“Worth it, Sammy.” Dean’s voice was so smug, Sam couldn’t help but crack an answering grin, hiding it under his hand covering a pretend cough.

 

“How’d we do?” he murmured, his face still looking at the floor. Dean answered with his hand over his mouth, holding the cigar to his lips and sucking in another mouthful of smoke to blow a giant ring with when he finished speaking.

 

“Free room - my bad, free  _ suite -  _ for the duration of our stay, buffet tickets tonight; I’d be surprised if we pay a dime for parking. All for the low, low price of forty bucks in tips and treating you like shit for fifteen minutes. Sorry ‘bout that Sammy.”

 

Sam shook his head, scowling at the floor. “Yeah, but now you have to wear a suit all weekend and treat me like shit the whole time.”

 

Dean shook his head, stepping out of the elevator as it dinged on their floor. “Only here, and I look  _ good  _ in a suit, Sammy. I’ll gamble our room money a couple hours every night, and as long as I don’t lose, we’re good.”

 

Sam snorted. “Okay, well, as long as you feed me I can entertain myself with the digital camera Sarah let me borrow while you’re gambling. I am  _ not  _ waiting on you though -”

 

“Oh come on, like one time to sell it -”

 

“ _ Bite me _ , Dean.”

 

Dean laughed out loud, swiping the room key in the door and stepping inside.  Sam stepped in behind him, and they shut the door behind themselves to gape.

 

“This is  _ nice,”  _ Sam breathed.

 

“How ‘bout you just bring me your phone at some point at the poker table and say I have a call?”

 

“Okay.”

 

“ _ Really?” _

 

“I mean, are you seeing this?”

 

Dean grinned, relieving Sam of his garment bag and tossing it over one of the fancy upholstered chairs. He stubbed out his cigar in a waiting ashtray and lifted the bottle of champagne chilling on the polished black marble bar with a “Please enjoy with our compliments" note in fancy script, dripping, from its silver ice bucket.

 

“I wish this was a beer.”

 

“Then you shouldn’t have played classical music when you pulled up, asshat.”

 

“That’s fair,” Dean snorted, running a hand through his hair. “I’m gonna rinse off from the drive and brush my teeth from the cigar and then go earn our keep. Want to take your laptop, hit the buffet now, and I’ll join you in a couple hours?”

 

“ _ Hells _ yes.”

 

“Alright. Here’s your ticket, try not to get us kicked out right away, huh?”

 

Sam snorted, already halfway out the door, his backpack a third the size it had been mere seconds before; everything but his laptop dumped on the bed in the first bedroom.

 

“No promises. You better win.”

 

“Oh, I  _ intend  _ to.”

  
  


***

 

_ “sam pls get my laptop from our room I’m @ poker tables thru t back tell bouncer ur w dean winchester hell let u right in” _

 

_ “but then I cant reenter buffet!” _

 

_ “do it u can have my ticket guy wants software demo” _

 

_ “cant u turn off 4 5 secs & relax ur on vaca” _

 

_ “$$$ sam” _

 

_ “omw” _

  
  


_ *** _

 

Dean sighed, staring at the buxom blonde going to town on some guy on his laptop screen. He’d left a birthday CD-ROM in the drive for just this occasion. He’d brought the... not hair gel, he had his own bed, a locked door, his own bathroom for fuck’s sake, he hadn’t had  _ that  _ much to drink, why wasn’t this working?

 

Dean thought about the girls downstairs the British guy had called over, the guy who turned out to be a headhunter and not at all a restaurant owner like he’d first claimed. Dean didn’t know if the girls worked directly for Mr Crowley or they just knew him, but they’d been  _ gorgeous _ , and smelled really good, and leaned in really close, and he’d felt only cool indifference as he’d smiled at them and demurred politely with his regrets. Not that he’d ever needed to pay for it, but those girls were  _ hot,  _ and seemed quite willing - above and beyond their livelihood, he was like ninety percent sure - to spend their evening in his company, and if anything he’d stepped away from them  _ less _ interested in sex than he’d been before they’d draped themselves over him. 

 

Dean shook his head at himself in frustration, glaring at his laptop screen. The blonde had been joined by a brunette and now they were ignoring the dude she’d been blowing to make out with each other while the dude jacked it, watching them. Dean grinned. Good for them. He tried to join the party but he just couldn’t get a sense of urgency going. Touching himself felt nice but pointless; he wasn’t even all the way hard.

 

Dean’s eyes wandered to the guy, who had a giant cock and was stripping it slow, every muscle in his abdomen tight for the camera. Dean wondered idly if Cas’s abs looked like that when he jacked it and he felt a wave of guilt on the heels of the thrill of arousal coursing through him, wincing without quite managing to tear his eyes away from the screen. The brunette was going down on the blonde now in the foreground, her long red acrylic nails surely no help at all, but Dean’s eyes were glued to the dude’s stomach, rippling as he humped his hand, his cock glistening under whatever lights they were using.

 

Dean glanced down at his own cock, which was also quite shiny, and definitely all the way hard now. With Cas’s brand of lube on it. Dean flushed crimson, watching his cock glisten as his hand moved over it, his eyes flicking to the screen to imagine those were Cas’s cock and abs, shiny and tight. The dude was moving around behind the brunette now, clearly about to rail her, but Dean’s clean hand impatiently backed the video up the several minutes to where the brunette had just come in, ignoring the girls to focus on the dude’s hand, sliding over his shiny cock. 

 

Cas’s hand would have longer fingers, but that could be what his cock looked like, Dean had no way of knowing, and he ignored the burning guilt in his stomach to imagine that it  _ was  _ Cas, his own hand moving faster and faster, his breath coming in hissing gasps he kept as quiet as he could, his dry hand desperately fast-forwarding the video now, to find the inevitable pull-out, so he could watch the dude groan his pleasure over his fist and onto the girl, a single moan escaping with Dean’s orgasm as he crested with him, spilling over his hand and onto his stomach in alternating waves of delicious pleasure and racking guilt.

 

Dean collapsed back onto the pile of pillows behind him, panting, listening to the pulse hammering in his ears slowing down while he _ tried _ to enjoy his afterglow, fighting the guilt trying to ruin his pleasure, the way it had been doing every goddamn time lately. 

 

_ At least you didn’t think about him coming up the stairs this time. _

 

Naturally, the unwelcome thought immediately took root, Dean’s cock twitching back to life as he couldn’t help himself turning to stare at the closed door to the suite’s living room, imagining Cas throwing it open, catching him like this, his attention heavy and powerful, his eyes flaring in shock and maybe, _please, for the love of all things holy,_ _maybe..._ _heat_. 

 

Dean groaned in defeat and reached for the tube of definitely-not-hair-gel again, the shame curling around the pit of his stomach no match for the desperate arousal curling in eddies just below it.

 

 

 


	46. How Was Vegas?

“How was Vegas?” Castiel asked, smiling fondly at the Winchesters over his kitchen table. The table was covered in an assortment of white cardboard-and-wire takeout containers, their interlocking lids invitingly pried open like so many alien facehugger eggs, fragrant and steaming. Castiel’s shoulders were slumped in defeat, the puffy dark circles under his eyes almost like bruises, and Dean tried not to look too worried before his eyes slid past the bags to stare into Castiel’s eyes and he forgot himself, his smile soft and fond.

 

“Good. Really good.” Dean paused for a moment, recollecting. “I, uh, I wish you could have come with m- been there, Cas. I wish you could have been there.”

 

Castiel sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. “I do too, Dean. I would kill to sit and stare at the Bellagio fountain for eight hours without thinking a single thought right now, or hell, even just to watch Sam work a buffet for an hour.”

 

Sam smirked, waving the remaining half of an egg roll, his mouth full. “You would have been proud of me, Cas.”

 

“I’m always proud of you, Sam.” Castiel was smiling softly at Sam now, who was grinning back around the rest of the eggroll. Neither of them saw Dean’s eyes widen, glazing instantly as he fought for control, gained it, and smoothed his face before anyone looked his way.

 

“He got our money’s worth,” Dean agreed proudly, and Sam snorted around a mouthful of lo mein.

 

“What’s so funny?” Castiel asked, plucking a piece of stir-fried broccoli with his chopsticks to pop it in his mouth and chew, his face expectant.

 

“Dean scored us a free room and dinner every night,” Sam explained, grinning proudly.

 

“Don’t forget the comped valet parking for Baby,” Dean added smugly, “not to mention I ate my weight in cocktail shrimp and came out of there with like a dozen work leads and up a couple hundred bucks. I even got headhunted.”

 

Castiel stared at Dean, a parade of emotion working across his face, exhaustion at least every other float. Dean studied his face as it came to rest on apprehension, Castiel’s eyes terribly sad, and Dean answered without Castiel even having to form the question.

 

“Not a chance, Cas. I only took his card and kept him talking so he’d keep buying me drinks.” 

 

Castiel’s face went straight to relief, only flickering a little as Sam remarked dryly, “He tried to buy you more than drinks, Dean.”

 

“Yeah, well, I don’t need to pay for that,” Dean muttered, flashing a scowl in Sam’s direction. His eyes didn’t seem to want to leave his plate now, his beef and broccoli terribly interesting, and he chewed in embarrassed silence until Castiel cleared his throat delicately, Dean looking up just as Castiel spoke, his tone eminently reasonable and his voice smooth as silk.

 

“I’m sure Sam would have waited downstairs if you left a sock on the door while you were fornicating with your complimentary prostitutes, Dean. Isn’t that the universal signal?”

 

Dean stared at Castiel, his mouth falling open, while Sam cackled, adding agreeably, “I  _ would  _ have, Dean, you’re  _ so right _ , Cas!”

 

Dean gave up, shaking his head and smirking despite the rising flush in his cheeks. “We had a  _ suite,  _ Cas. Sam could have watched the forty-eight inch plasma TV from the sectional sofa, in front of the fireplace  _ and _ floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lights of Vegas, while I fornicated in my own  _ separate  _ bedroom, thank you very much.” He grinned at Cas as Castiel’s eyes widened in appropriately impressed awe.

 

“You must have been  _ quite _ an ass to get that room comped,” Castiel remarked dryly, reaching for a dumpling, and Dean smirked while Sam answered for him.

 

“Oh, he  _ was,  _ Cas, you should have seen it. A  _ total _ dick, said I was his intern -“

 

“Come on, it was worth it - “

 

“I mean, yeah, but you could at least have not blamed  _ me _ for booking the wrong room, the staff gave me the stink eye all weekend - “

 

“Sam, you  _ earned  _ that stink eye at the buffet, all by yourself.”

 

Sam giggled, nodding. “Yeah I did.”

 

Dean shook his head at Sam, grinning, before turning back to Castiel. “There’s no reason we couldn’t add clients from Vegas, if I land any, right?”

 

“None. The codebase is ready, if management would step up and stop being so geographically isolationist. We were just starting to branch out when the economy took that nosedive, and then I think they just got cold feet and didn’t want to pay for travel expenses.”

 

“Yeah, that’s my main concern,” Dean admitted, nodding. “I’m sharing the car with Sam. But I could spread the leads around if they’ll let me, Lord knows I’m busy enough within a two hour radius. Maybe I can get some of these other sales folks out of my sweet spot.”

 

Castiel beamed at Dean, his smile terribly fond. “Anywhere you go is your sweet spot, Dean. You could sell sand in the desert.”

 

Dean’s answering smile was very bright, his pleasure palpable, and Sam finally had to clear his throat before either of them broke the eye contact.

 

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean murmured, his hand self-consciously rubbing the back of his neck, but Castiel was looking at Sam now, his grin just a little evil.

 

“Aren’t you done with your dinner yet, Sam? I still see food on your plate, and from what I understand you don’t get dessert until your plate is clean, isn’t that right?” He smirked as Sam’s eyes lit up in desperate hope.

 

“You made dessert? But you didn’t even have time for us to cook tonight,” Dean protested, and Castiel beamed, watching Sam polish off the rest of his plate at breakneck speed.

 

“I didn’t, but I  _ did  _ have time to stop by the bakery and pick up an apple pie and ice cream,” Castiel explained, turning to watch Dean’s face light up. “I’m sorry it’s store-bought -”

 

“Dude, your bakery is  _ amazing,”  _ Dean assured him, carefully  _ not  _ adding “ _ I’d eat brussels sprouts and lima beans, if it meant we could stay for just a little while longer.” _

 

Castiel leapt up to get dessert, Dean following on his heels to put away what was left of dinner, but Cas waved a hand, insisted they take it with them, and Sam didn’t have to be told twice, closing up facehugger eggs and shoving them into one of the plastic bags they’d arrived in while Dean helped Cas carry plates and forks to the table instead of shoving takeout in the fridge.

 

Dean ate his pie as slowly as he could, savoring every bite, but it felt like only seconds before his plate was empty, Castiel, the consummate host, standing up to collect it, his eyes so soft and sad as he whispered, “ _ I hate this. I -  _ “ his voice caught and he swallowed and cleared his throat. “ _ I miss you. _ “   
  


“It’s Okay, Cas,” Dean promised, reaching out to soothe, his hand touching Castiel’s arm. Castiel’s sparks were just a gentle warmth against Dean’s fingers tonight, his exhaustion reaching even this, and Dean dared to move his hand lightly, patting Cas’s arm. “Just ten more days, right?”

 

“And then we launch,” Castiel sighed, “and find all the bugs we missed. And make sure my new help request ticketing system is seamless. We needed to make sure we could tell which browser the clients and their visitors are reporting an error from; they never know...” He met Dean’s eyes, his glance tearing away from Dean’s fingers on his arm to flash an apology, his face riddled with guilt.

 

“I’m  _ so  _ sorry about last night, Dean. We lost track of time…”

 

Dean nodded, keeping his face cheerful with sheer force of will. It had hurt  _ so much  _ to realize Cas wasn’t going to be showing up at  _ Sugar Tonight  _ after all, he’d almost teared up on the drive to get Sam, blasting Zeppelin and showing up a good hour early to wait sullenly on the street.

 

“It’s okay, Cas,” Dean whispered, but Castiel was watching him carefully, studying him, and he shook his head slowly.

 

“It  _ isn’t.  _ I - I felt  _ awful _ when I realized I’d stood you up but you were gone when I got there and - and -” Castiel sagged into himself, his voice cracking. “ _ I wanted to cry. _ ” He didn’t look away, too tired to pretend, and Dean realized Cas was starting to cry  _ now,  _ his eyes welling in sorrow and sheer, broken, fatigue.

 

“Oh, Cas,” Dean murmured, leaping to his feet to throw his arms around his friend. Castiel melted against Dean’s shoulder, his arms limp at his sides. Dean shot an agonized look at Sam but Sam was just as worried, shrugging helplessly in response.

 

“Cas, go to bed, won’t you please?” Dean begged, daring to rub his back a little. “You’re _ beyond _ exhausted, you can’t possibly work tonight, huh? Sit in your garden. Watch your fountain. Then  _ lie down. _ ”

 

Castiel’s response was an unintelligible mumbled protest against Dean’s shoulder, and Dean squeezed his shoulders, very nearly rocking him a little. “Cas, brains  _ need  _ time off to function properly,  _ especially  _ giant nerd ones like yours.”  Castiel snorted against Dean’s shoulder, and Sam chimed in to back Dean up.

 

“I read a study about that for class, Cas, Dean’s right, you  _ have  _ to take a break. High levels of cortisol can wear down the brain’s ability to function properly. Stress can  _ kill _ brain cells. Did you take a day off last weekend?”

 

Castiel’s defeated groan into Dean’s shoulder was answer enough. Dean pulled away, holding Cas by both shoulders to force eye contact, Castiel’s eyelids barely mustering the energy to crack open.

 

“You  _ have  _ to take a break, Cas. Give it a day. How ‘bout I take you out to visit Frank’s greenhouse tomorrow?” Dean’s voice was so much more sad than hopeful as he let go of Castiel’s shoulders and steeled himself for the rejection, he could see Castiel sagging even further under a wave of guilt. Dean winced and took a breath and tried his damndest to keep his voice light and soothing as he pleaded.

 

“You can just stare at the road. You don’t have to say anything, I’ll play any music you want - or no music, if you want - you can check out his newest flowers and tell him how Amara is doing. You  _ know _ he’s dying to know.” 

 

Dean’s voice tried for casual, but the quiet yearning underneath - that and his offer of a trip two hours out from Castiel’s place, two hours each way Dean was begging to just... sit quietly in his car, next to his friend that he hadn’t really seen in a month - was not lost on anyone in the room.

 

No one was more surprised than Castiel to hear Castiel whisper, “ _ Yes, please. _ ”

 

“ _ Yes? _ ” Dean’s face couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard, and he studied Castiel’s equally surprised face hopefully. “ _ Seriously? _ ”

 

“Yes,” Castiel answered more firmly, nodding. “I  _ do  _ need a break and that sounds…  _ wonderful.”  _

 

“You got it, Cas,” Dean enthused, his face lighting up in delighted incredulity. “I’ll pick you up at eleven tomorrow morning, so you can sleep in as long as you need to, alright?”

 

Castiel nodded yes, weaving a little on his feet, and when Dean reached out to steady him, somehow there were sparks again, tiny and weak, but definitely there, tickling Dean’s fingertips as he smiled softly and commanded gently, “Now go to  _ bed,  _ Cas.” 

 

Castiel nodded his obedience, yawning his way up the stairs to collapse into bed still dressed as two Winchesters slipped out his front door, locked it behind themselves, soft snores already whispering past Castiel’s lips as Baby roared away down the street.

  
  


 


	47. Greenhouse Of The Rising Sun

Dean’s fingers drummed contentedly on Baby’s steering wheel, CCR crooning to him about that bathroom on the right. Ninety-two point three KSJO was holding strong despite their travel distance south, and Cas’s claim he hadn’t had a preference was easily sleuthed by watching the set of his jaw and the way he held his shoulders.  

 

Currently Castiel's shoulders were relaxed, his index finger tapping on his thigh along to the music.  His lips had tensed for Metallica - probably thinking about New Year’s, Dean had realized, quickly switching it to radio, to turn the dial up and down the band, searching.  Castiel’s shoulders had hunched for the pop music station. His jaw had actually clenched for the jazz station. 

 

Dean grinned to himself, musing, and glanced at Cas’s thigh again. His finger was still tapping, kind of, more like a gentle caress back and forth if anything, his fingernail softly tickling across the denim of his jeans, and Dean gulped and looked back at the road, leaning his head towards his open window to let the sun and wind wash away his sinful thoughts. 

 

They didn’t have much further to go to Frank’s, maybe fifteen miles, when Dean could feel Cas starting to tense up, and he leaned forward to switch off the music in case Cas didn’t like The Animals. The silence didn’t help; if anything Cas was more tense, shoulders stiff, hands still, his eyes staring straight ahead. When Dean heard him hold his breath, then slowly blow it out for a count of eight, he pulled Baby over on the shoulder and shifted her into park.

 

“Talk to me, Cas.” 

 

“I’m fine, Dean.” Castiel’s thumbs were digging into his thighs, his nostrils white, and Dean stared at him for several heartbeats before Castiel’s eyes came up to meet Dean’s fleetingly, before closing tightly, more white showing than should have been around bright blue.

 

“We don’t have to go,” Dean murmured soothingly. “I can pull a U-turn right here, we’ll go get a sandwich at that place we saw ten miles back and I’ll take you home, if you want. Whatever you want, Cas, it’s fine.” Dean’s hands twitched but he didn’t reach into Castiel’s space; there was nowhere for Cas to go if he didn’t want to be touched. 

 

“I just want you to have a good day,” Dean begged quietly. “Please, Cas, tell me how I can help.”

 

Castiel’s eyes, when they opened, sparkled more than they should in the bright sunshine.

 

“You’re already helping, Dean, more than you can possibly know,” Castiel answered, his voice unsteady. He took a long, gulping breath, and held it an eternity before blowing it out slowly, bracing himself against Baby’s leather like she could catch him from falling.

 

Dean waited quietly, not sure what to do or say, his hand unconsciously reaching towards Castiel’s. Both men froze when his hand accidentally grazed the side of Castiel’s hand, splayed across the bench seat, and after an eternity of sparks tickling across their pinkies, Dean moved his hand to cover Castiel’s, squeezing gently in case it would help.

 

Castiel didn’t pull away, his pulse rapid and his breath fighting his efforts to control it, but with Dean’s steady, slow pulse against his hand, the quiet comfort of the heat of Dean’s touch fighting back the darkness in his mind, Castiel slowly regained his composure, his nostrils unflaring, and his pulse slowing until he dared to speak.

 

“I haven’t been back here since - since the day I got back, Dean, and I don’t know how I did it then. I  _ had _ to, I had an obligation to Frank - he agreed to care for my orchids until the day I came home and not one day longer, and I gave him my  _ word _ -”  

 

Dean snorted quietly, and Castiel smiled a little, rueful but fond. 

 

“Yes, well, that’s Frank for you. This used to be one of my favorite places, and I haven’t been able to face it in - in a  _ year,  _ Dean.” Castiel’s face was haunted, turning to Dean in anguish, and Dean’s upper lip quirked encouragingly, his face worried and terribly fond.

 

“You don’t have to face it today, either, if you don’t want, Cas.” Dean studied Castiel’s face, fear and frustration and yearning rippling across Cas’s features as he fought himself. “But if you still want to go, I’ll be with you the whole time, okay? We can leave whenever you want, just give me a look and I’ll make something up, you know I will.” 

 

Castiel tried for a smile, his face still deeply pained, and Dean watched him carefully, trying to gauge how to help.

 

“Does it - does it, uh, remind you of… anything, Cas?” Dean asked tentatively, “Is... that why?”

 

“No,” Castiel shook his head, “It’s not anything like that. It’s just… when I picked up my orchids I didn’t - I couldn’t - “ Castiel’s voice cracked as he whispered, “I felt - I felt  _ dead _ inside Dean,  _ completely numb _ , standing in the place that used to bring me such joy.”

 

“ _ Oh, Cas, _ ” Dean whispered, his eyes wide in horrified sympathy. His hand had slowly retreated from Castiel’s space but he reached out to cover Castiel’s hand again, his touch warm and soothing. “We can turn around right now, just say the word. But… you love Amara, don’t you?”

 

Castiel nodded slowly, his eyes swimming.

 

“Well, Frank had a whole corner of the greenhouse - the one he said  _ you _ paid for - just  _ full  _ of all sorts of fancy new flowers I bet you’d like to take a look at, Cas,” Dean wheedled, his eyes soft. “I think you’d like to look at them, I really do.”

 

Castiel smiled finally, his smile fragile but real, and he nodded. “Okay.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.” Castiel’s voice quavered as he whispered, “ _ Thank you, Dean.”  _

 

Dean didn’t trust himself to speak, but he squeezed Cas’s hand, and he didn’t let go until he had Baby roaring down the road again, then he reluctantly broke the contact, ostensibly to switch the radio back on to the classic rock station.

 

When they pulled up in front of the nursery, Castiel was doing breathing exercises again, his eyes squeezed shut, and Dean switched off Baby’s ignition and spoke quietly, his voice painstakingly gentle.

 

“I’m going to go in and have a word with Frank, Cas, to let him know to give us a minute, and then I’ll come back for you, okay? Breathe.”

 

Castiel nodded without opening his eyes, and Dean stepped out of Baby and shut her door as quietly as he could, rapidly crossing to the greenhouse to step into the warm wash of humid air, crunching onto the gravel to ignore the riot of color and look for Frank.

 

He found him in the back, hosing out some pots, and Frank looked up at Dean’s approach, his face lighting up in recognition.

 

“Oh Hey, Dean, how’s my ‘Kiwi Baron’?  Is Castiel treating her right?”

 

Dean nodded, his face urgent. “Yes, Frank, I have him with me and I hope he can tell you himself -”

 

“You do? Where is he?” Frank was straightening up, looking past Dean, wiping his hands on his overalls, and Dean held out a placating hand, trying to make him understand.

 

“Frank. Listen to me; Castiel is not the same man you knew.”

 

“What do you mean? Is he alright?” Frank looked concerned now, his grizzled eyebrows meeting in the middle as his forehead furrowed, and Dean shook his head seriously.

 

“Yes and no, Frank. I didn’t know him before, but I know that coming here today is not easy for him, and I’ve come in to ask you to wait to talk to him until I get him in the second greenhouse,  _ if  _ I can get him that far. If I can’t, we’ll try again another time. Can you do that for me? For him?”

 

Frank nodded seriously, his face dawning into understanding. “I had an uncle went to ‘Nam. I get it, boy. I’ll be in the back.”

 

“Thank you,” Dean breathed, already weaving his way back through the hanging pots to step out, blinking, into the dry heat of the bright afternoon sun. He stepped to Baby’s passenger door, pulled it open to find Castiel still doing his breathing exercises, his eyes tightly shut and his face on the verge of panic.

 

“I’m here, Cas,” Dean said quietly. “You don’t have to do this, just say the word and we’ll leave right now. But if you want to try, I’m right here.”

 

Castiel nodded, eyes still shut, turning his face to let the sun shine on him. He took a deep, trembling breath, and opened his eyes.

 

Dean smiled encouragingly, willing the fear in Cas’s eyes to stand down. He offered Cas his hand, in case it might help, and Castiel reached out slowly, as if he were dreaming, to grasp it, concentrating on the tingle and letting Dean pull him steadily to his feet.

 

Castiel’s forehead was beading sweat, his underarms already soaked, but Dean ignored it, ignored everything except his friend’s face, Cas’s expression nearing panic, and their hands, still clasped together. Cas hadn’t let go, his grip clutching, so Dean didn’t pull away, murmuring softly, “Six steps, Cas. We’ll look inside the door, and then, if you want, we can go.”

 

Castiel nodded, but his feet did not move.

 

“Take a deep breath for five, hold it for seven, blow it out for eight, and on eight, we’re gonna take one step, okay, Cas? I’ll count.” Dean’s voice was gentle, so gentle, and Castiel nodded obediently, his eyes slipping closed again, as Dean counted out loud,

 

“- five, six, seven, eight,  _ step.” _

 

Castiel stepped, taking several panting breaths and holding onto Dean’s hand for dear life.

 

“ _ Good,  _ Cas. Again.”

 

Dean counted Castiel’s breath out five more times, Castiel stepping forward each time at Dean’s gentle command, his eyes tightly shut and his grip on Dean’s hand so tight Dean’s fingers felt numb.

 

The sixth time, Dean stepped forward to pull the greenhouse door open without letting go of Castiel’s hand, the rush of warm, humid air hitting them both in the face, and Dean murmured, “We’re here, Cas, you did it. Take a look, and then we can go.”

 

Castiel nodded obediently, sucking in a deep breath of that unmistakable green,  _ living,  _ smell, his eyes slowly opening, and he stared past Dean into the greenhouse, his face half terror, half desperate yearning.

 

“I like the way the gravel in there sounds when I step on it, Cas, it’s like your garden,” Dean said conversationally. “Is it a special kind of gravel?”

 

“Yes,” Castiel nodded immediately, “It’s a pea gravel. I went to five different landscaping companies and stepped on dozens of kinds of gravel before I found one that sounded like Frank’s.” Castiel’s eyes, still way too much white showing, traveled to the gravel just past the threshold, his gaze in the past now. 

 

“So you made your garden after you came here?” Dean asked.

 

“Oh, yes. Before I came here my backyard was a square patch of grass with a row of potted ficus along the back fence.” 

 

“Uh, sounds nice -”

 

“It wasn’t. It was awful to take care of and wasteful to water and the ficus trees were ugly and needed constant pruning and their sap gave me a rash.”

 

“So Frank’s gravel inspired you?”

 

“Yes.” Castiel’s face was fond now, remembering, a little more fond than terrified, and Dean went for broke.

 

“Would you like to step on it with me?”

 

Castiel nodded earnestly, self-consciously glancing at their hands, still clasped together, and Dean whispered, “Just ‘til we’re inside, okay, Cas? On three, we’ll step in, together.”

 

Castiel nodded, sucked in a deep breath, and blew it out slowly as Dean counted, ”One, two, three,  _ step.” _

 

They stepped, the gravel crunching pleasantly under their feet, and Dean squeezed Castiel’s hand before letting go, to pull the greenhouse door discreetly shut behind them, as Castiel stood quietly, dazed.

 

Dean stepped back to Castiel’s side to place a soothing hand on his elbow, his other hand pointing at a gorgeous specimen hanging right in front of them, bright yellow blossoms with pink throats, her spikes cascading down from the basket above them.

 

“What does this one like, Cas? Lots of sun?”

 

Castiel’s orchid encyclopedia brain kicked in, spilling facts about light and water and nutrients, not noticing when he took a step forward in his eagerness, his hands reaching towards the orchid reverently but never touching her, Dean’s attention rapt as he stepped unobtrusively aside, one step deeper into the greenhouse as Castiel’s information dump slowed, to point at another lady and ask if she was the same kind.

 

By the time Dean had Cas halfway through the first greenhouse he didn’t have to ask anymore, Castiel was excitedly telling him everything there was to know about every flower within reach, Dean’s brain retaining none of it but his attention completely absorbed all the same, enraptured by the glow on Castiel’s face as facts bubbled up out of him, Castiel’s affection for all these ladies calming him, grounding him, until his heartbeat was slow and steady, the sweat glistening on his forehead now only from the humid air.

 

After about thirty minutes, they made it to the door of the second greenhouse. When Dean opened the door and Castiel easily stepped through it, Frank looking up to call out, “Hello, Castiel, good to see you!” the joy on Castiel’s face was so beautiful Dean had to look away for a moment, blinking, as Castiel rushed to shake hands with his friend, beaming, and Frank practically dragged him away to come look at his new cultivars.

 

Dean left them to it, staring in turn at the various flowers hanging everywhere around him and letting the sounds of Castiel’s enthusiastic exclamations and Frank’s low voice droning details of lineage lull him, their voices and the exhaust fan whirring somewhere overhead in the humid air and the crunch of the gravel under his feet hypnotic, slipping him into some other eternal plane, linear time a concept that simply didn’t apply here.

 

After an unknowable interval Castiel was beside him, his pleasure palpable, and Dean startled out of his stupor to admire Castiel’s face with this feeling written across it, content to smile at him forever without it crossing his mind to speak.

 

Castiel smiled back, explaining, “Frank’s closing up, we should go.”

 

Dean nodded dreamily, blinking, and followed a chattering Castiel back out to Baby, listening to him describe the wonders he had just witnessed in glowing terms, but when they got in the car and shut their doors, Castiel fell silent.

 

Dean drove them to the sandwich shop, let Castiel buy them a late lunch at Cas’s insistence, ate in companionable silence, and rinsed the sweat off his face in the bathroom, grinning at Castiel when he saw Castiel had had the same idea, his hair spiked with water and his smile dazzling. They climbed back into Baby without needing to say anything, and Dean switched the radio back on to hum along under his breath while his fingers drummed on Baby’s steering wheel.

 

Dean was pulling Baby into Castiel’s driveway before Castiel said another word, turning to face Dean as Dean put her in park and switched off her ignition.

 

“Dean.  _ Thank you _ for today. I’ve been trying to find the words for two hours but I don’t think there are any.”

 

“It’s no big deal, Cas,” Dean began, but Castiel held up a hand, and Dean fell silent.

 

“ _ It is to me _ , Dean. You gave me back a piece of joy I thought was lost to me, and you never once treated me like - like I was broken, or a burden -”

 

“Cas - “

 

“Let me finish, Dean.” Castiel’s eyes were glazed, but steady, and Dean stilled, waiting.

 

“-  _ or a coward _ .” Castiel whispered. “You gave up your Saturday to do something that must have been incredibly boring for you and I am  _ so grateful.”   _ He stared at Dean, eyes welling for real, and Dean stared back, eyes wide, his face landing on dismay.

 

“Cas, you’re  _ not  _ a - a  _ coward,  _ you were brave as  _ fuck  _ today and I am  _ so _ proud of you! This was the  _ best _ day, not  _ boring, _ Cas, you’re my  _ best friend _ , I would do  _ anything  _ for you, that’s what best friends do  - what is it, are you okay?”

 

Castiel’s eyes were wide in shock, his hands braced against Baby’s leather again, and he had to clear his throat twice to get any words out.

 

“How am  _ I -  _ Dean, I’m - _ I’m _ your  _ best friend? _ ”

 

Dean nodded self-consciously, not trusting himself to speak.  

 

Castiel couldn’t believe what he’d heard, finally asking, “But, didn’t you have friends in school? I thought - I guess I thought - I was... convenient for now, while you’re here putting Sam through school…”

 

Dean’s face fell, and he shrank into himself, reaching out to grip Baby’s steering wheel and staring at his hands. “We moved a lot, and then I had to drop out of school to take care of Sam,” he muttered defensively. “I’ve never - I wasn’t -  _ never mind _ . Forget it.” 

 

Dean was out of the car before Castiel realized his hand was on the door, and Castiel scrambled to climb out of his side, trying to catch Dean’s eye over her roof.

 

“ _ Dean,”  _ he pleaded, but Dean was already climbing back in now that Cas was out, starting her up, and Castiel stubbornly folded himself back inside the passenger seat he had just vacated, his voice anguished.

 

“ _ Dean,  _ I didn’t mean it like that,  _ please.  _ I  _ meant,  _ I have trouble connecting with other people, and you’re so good with people I just assumed you had tons of friends better at it than I am back home, that’s all,” Castiel begged, his voice breaking. “ _ I’m sorry,  _ Dean _.  _ I’ve never had a best friend before, that’s all. But - but - Dean you  _ can’t _ tell Anna, she’s tried so hard and she’s been so good to me but I just - I don’t feel this way about her.” 

 

The fear and guilt in Castiel’s voice finally broke through to Dean and the tension in Dean’s shoulders slumped a little, his face still hurt and closed off when he turned to face Castiel, his stare looking past Cas now to the game night when Castiel had kissed Anna goodbye, Cas’s arms coming up to hug her  _ back,  _ his eyes closing as he pressed his lips to the top of her head.

 

“I won’t tell her,” Dean promised, his voice tight. “I gotta get going, Cas, I promised Sam we’d order in from Maria - “

 

“Dean, I’m  _ sorry,”  _ Castiel begged, “ _ please  _ don’t leave angry with me, I can’t  _ bear  _ to have ruined this one good day - “

 

Dean’s hand caught Cas’s, and he squeezed, hard, his breath coming out as one long, shuddering exhale. He let go before he spoke, his voice rough, his eyes staring out the windshield at Castiel’s garage door.

 

“It  _ was  _ a good day, wasn’t it?”

 

“ _ Yes,  _ Dean. The  _ best _ day.” 

 

Castiel didn’t dare say anything else, holding his breath, his hands limp in his lap, his fingers still tingling where Dean had squeezed them.

 

“I’ve never had a best friend before either, Cas,” Dean finally whispered, and Castiel dared to breathe again, letting out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding in a rush, to suck in another.

 

“I am  _ honored, _ ” he whispered, and Dean’s lips curved up, bashful pleasure creeping across his face.

 

They sat in a delicate silence for several millennia before Dean spoke again, his voice apologetic.

 

“Listen, Cas, I’m going to take a little break from coming to the bar for the next few weeks,” Dean began, and Castiel winced guiltily as Dean continued gently, “I’m helping Felipe fix up the Dodge Omni GLH he bought off those damn fool teenagers.”

 

Castiel’s eyes widened as he turned to Dean, “They  _ sold _ that thing? I thought they were going to run it into the ground -”

 

“Oh, they did. They crashed it, and then they sold the carcass to Felipe for three hundred American dollars, cash.” Dean grinned, his eyes dancing. “He overpaid, but he’s got his permit and his Mama gave him permission and he’s  _ so _ excited I didn’t have the heart to tell him. We’re gonna get it a new bumper, hammer some dents out, replace the headlight.”

 

The fact that Castiel just hadn’t had time for Dean for weeks hung in the air between them, brooding, and Castiel shut his eyes to swallow the lump in his throat, opened them to thank Dean for the lie.

 

“ _ Thank you _ , Dean,” Castiel managed, his voice breaking.

 

“For what?”

 

“For - for today. For  _ everything.  _ We’re in the home stretch at work, and I’ll be done soon, I promise.”

 

“I know you will, Cas,” Dean answered, his voice soft. “I can’t wait. I mean, I  _ will  _ wait, but I look forward to it. You know what I mean.”  

 

He smiled, a real smile, and Cas smiled back, his face  _ just  _ as fond as it had been that time he’d kissed Anna, Dean’s brain unhelpfully supplied.

 

“See you next Friday?” Dean asked, and Castiel groaned down the barrel of the week staring him in the face and nodded, reaching for Baby’s door handle.

 

“Yes. Sam’s recipe choice next time, right?”

 

“Not takeout? Will you have time to cook?” Dean sounded surprised, but Castiel nodded firmly through the open passenger window.

 

“Yes. I will  _ make  _ time, Dean.” 

 

He turned to spring lightly up his steps and Dean watched him go, leaning across Baby’s bench seat to roll up Castiel’s window, rolling his own mostly up as well before pulling out of the driveway, watching his  _ best friend  _ shyly wave goodbye, and waving back just as shyly, desperately wondering, as he reined Baby south, what the correct process might be for casually telling one’s  _ best friend _ one was, in fact, in love with them.

  
  
  
  
  



	48. The Second of May

 

Dean smiled at Castiel over the remains of the ravaged 3D stormtrooper helmet cake somehow still precariously sitting upright on its stand, halfway between them on the brown formica of the sticky vinyl booth. Castiel’s baker had really outdone himself, although Dean had insisted on paying for every part of the party this time, including the cake, a stack of eight pizzas for a dozen college kids, an Xbox DVD movie playback kit, and Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone on a  _ legit, non-bootleg DVD,  _ which Dean had explained to Cas he’d already given Sam before the party, so as not to embarrass him in front of his new friends in case they weren’t epic nerds like Sammy. 

 

Castiel’s gift of SEGA GT 2002 for Xbox, a multiplayer racing game currently sitting next to the stormtrooper, had been deemed safe to open in front of the others in a hurried consultation with Dean, and Sam had been so excited Castiel’s face still hurt from smiling.

 

Castiel felt Dean’s smile and turned away from watching Sarah and her startlingly attractive roommate Jessica pelt Sam with multicolored plastic balls as Sam giggled, shielding his face, trying and failing to find his feet in the ball pit they’d somehow convinced him to climb into. 

 

“This was a better idea than I anticipated,” Castiel admitted, smiling back. “When you texted me the location for Sam’s Birthday party, I will admit I had my doubts.”  

 

Dean was grinning at something, and Castiel followed his gaze and shook his head as two girls tag-team shoved Sam off his feet  _ just _ as he was about to make it out the edge of the pit. Sam fell back in with a huge crash and a protest of ‘No Fair!’ while the girls high-fived one another, smirking. 

 

Dean laughed, turning back to Castiel. “Dude, this place is  _ historic.  _ This is the FLAGSHIP Chuck E. Cheese, Cas, San José was their first location ever.” He grinned conspiratorially, reaching into the green cooler for another beer and lifting his eyebrows to wheedle, beaming in success and pulling out two bottles as Castiel allowed himself to be persuaded. “Not to mention the manager is a friend of a friend who owes me a favor.”

 

“Yes, that’s the part you conveniently forgot to mention,” Castiel snorted. “That and the part where we’d have the place to ourselves, although I would still have expected Sam to be too old for this sort of thing.“

 

Dean shook his head, a fond smile teasing his lips as he watched his brother and his various assortment of friends, now stuffing their teenage bodies into video game booths sized for children with great glee. 

 

“No one grows up on purpose, Cas, someone bigger just tells you you’re too old for something one day.” He took a long pull of El Sol, his eyes far away, and Castiel nodded, sighing.

 

“You don’t know how right you are, Dean.”

 

Dean turned away from watching Sam to study Castiel’s face. “So are you guys done on that giant mobile push, finally?” 

 

Castiel sighed heavily. “For the most part. As you know, we launched on April fifteenth to run some ‘tax return’ promotions for our customers, and as you perhaps don’t know but likely surmised, we are now furiously cleaning up behind the scenes while pretending everything went perfectly. But we’re close. I can finally breathe.”

 

“Good.” Dean smiled softly, watching two beautiful girls draping themselves over his giant little brother as Sam furiously cranked the wheel on a driving video game. Jessica had four inches on Sarah, her legs a mile long from the hem of her tiny denim skirt to her black and white checkered sneakers, but she was bent over to match Sam’s seated height, her blonde hair mingling with Sam and Sarah’s flowing locks, wavy blonde on unruly brown on silky black as the three of them conspired to beat the machine.  

 

“We missed you, Cas,” Dean murmured, his head tilting slightly as he watched Sarah’s hand, wrapped around Sam’s waist, lightly come to rest on the back of Jessica’s bare thigh.

 

Castiel followed Dean’s glance and his eyebrows lifted for a second before he smoothed his face into a soft smile. 

 

“I missed you too.”

 

Dean took a swallow of El Sol to cool the warmth in his chest, but it didn’t do a thing. He stood up, sighed, stretched. 

 

“Are you too old for the ball pit, Cas?”

 

“It’s more a hygiene issue, Dean…”

 

“So, that’s a yes, then? I get it. Brittle bones and all that...” Dean smirked over his shoulder before doing a  _ ridiculous  _ swan dive, crashing into the balls and disappearing underneath them for a moment before reappearing, his smile pure and bright, to pelt Castiel with deadly aim.

 

Castiel caught the red plastic ball with one hand, inches from his face, his eyes narrowing into tiny slivers as he stood up and slipped out of his suit jacket. Dean’s eyes widened and he very nearly didn’t squeak as he backpedaled away from Castiel’s stalking approach, a tiger in Tom Ford.

 

When Sam looked up at the peals of laughter to find the two of them flinging brightly colored plastic balls at each other, simultaneously ducking and giggling like idiots, the soft smile that settled over his features melted the girls on his arms into puddles as they turned to follow his gaze, glanced at each other knowingly, and then nestled into Sam a little closer, Sarah’s bright red fingernails on the back of Jessica’s thigh now slowly stroking up and down.

 

 


	49. Calm Before The Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We arrive, now, at the edge of a precipice. This chapter is one of the most beautiful things I have ever written. A love letter, if you will, to Jensen in motion. I am publishing it this week and waiting until next week for the leap off the cliff face, because I want you to feel the love I felt here, this moment of seismic shift, to hold your breath with me and feel how I felt. If you are reading this after the original publication date, please take a breath, shut your eyes for a heartbeat after this chapter, and feel that moment at the top of the roller coaster rise climb where gravity hasn't caught you yet, and just for a second, you can fly.

On Thursday, Dean wore a new silk tie, a dark green one with subtle shimmering stripes that the salesgirl had actually blushed to see him in. He’d figured that meant it worked for him, and he’d grinned and winked at her as she stammered and walked him to the register to ring up the tie and the cologne he’d picked out in a different section of the department store. Dean figured it was time for a change anyway, he’d been wearing the same one since High School and he was a grown man now; this wasn’t just about trying to appeal to Cas…  _ of course it is, who are you kidding? _ He’d shaken his head at himself as he’d collected Sam, studying in the food court next to a tray full of fast food wrappers.

 

Sam grinned up at him, shut down his laptop to stuff it in his backpack so they could stride in lockstep down the long hallway of the mall towards Baby and home.

 

“Find everything you need?”

 

“Shaaaddup,” Dean harrumphed. “But yeah, I think so.”

 

Sam reached for the bag curiously, and Dean reluctantly handed it over so Sam could look inside. 

 

“Nice,” Sam nodded. “That’ll bring out your eyes.” 

 

Dean nodded, embarrassed, then he grinned in recollection. “Salesgirl got all shy and blushed when I tried that one on.” 

 

Sam snorted. “Good choice, then.” 

 

They pushed out of the mall doors together, piled into Baby, and Dean eased her onto the highway towards home. Sam put the bag to his face and sniffed it. 

 

“That’s kind of nice, Dean. What is that?”

 

“Dunno, but I like it. Not too girly but like, kind of a hint of Cas’s flowers in it.”

 

“That’s what it is! Like Mary Jane.”

 

“There’s no  _ way _ that cologne smells like weed, Sam!”

 

Sam grinned at Dean, setting the bag down between them on the seat. “Not like weed, like Cas’s orchid. The little white one with yellow centers that kind of smells like vanilla. Her name is Mary Jane.”

 

“Oh!” Dean was silent for the rest of the drive home that night, musing, and he was silent now, stepping into  _ Sugar Tonight  _ decked out in his best suit and a new tie and new cologne to do his damndest to figure out, once and for all, if Cas was into him.

 

***

 

Castiel was in a foul mood. Dean was late. Worse, tables were pushed back and there were microphone stands and a drum kit in the corner of  _ Sugar Tonight,  _ posters on the wall announcing a special event, LIVE MUSIC, at EIGHT. His friends had still managed to snag their table and enough of the tall barstool-height chairs to go around, but there were interlopers milling about, excited chatter about the big event. It wasn’t that he was against live music, per se, but Castiel liked things to go as they were supposed to, and this was  _ not _ how Thursday night was supposed to go. 

 

Castiel’s irritated grumping was interrupted by the only person he wanted to see tonight stepping up to the bar, and his breath caught as Dean turned towards him, a dark beer in each hand, to glide across the room to his side and set a beer down in front of him with a soft smile, his eyes dancing as he gazed down into Castiel’s wide-eyed stare.

 

Castiel’s foul mood was instantly forgotten. He stared up at Dean for several long seconds before remembering to blink and smile back. Dean’s familiar shape was somehow even more appealing tonight, this dark suit more form-fitting than his usual; the same color but not the same cut as what he'd worn to work today. He must have gone home to change.  _ That _ had never happened before, but it had definitely been worth the wait.  _ This _ suit made Castiel’s mouth feel dry, short-circuited his ability to speak. This was the one Dean had worn to the Christmas party, Castiel’s brain helpfully supplied. 

 

Dean had gotten a haircut this week, a little closer on the sides and a little spikier on top than his last several, and his eyes were sparkling like emeralds above a gleaming dark green tie Castiel didn’t remember seeing before, and he - he even  _ smelled _ different; Castiel could just catch a hint of something spicy and a little sweet, something that made the tension in his shoulders melt down his arm and slip from his fingertips into the cold beer glass his hand was instinctually wrapping around, a new tension replacing it, something shimmering and electric.

 

“New tie?” Castiel managed at last, but his face said, “ _Jesus,_ _you look great_.” 

 

“Yes,” Dean murmured, “Do you like it?” but his eyes answered, “ _ Thank you. I wore it for you _ .”

 

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel nodded, smiling softly. He took a sip of beer to collect himself, searched for Dean’s eyes again - which flicked back up from watching him taste his beer to meet him - to whisper, “It suits you.”    

 

Pleasure colored Dean’s cheeks and his glance fell demurely to his beer. He lifted the dark liquid to his lips slowly, deliberately, leaning down towards the glass carefully so he wouldn’t spill a drop, pressing the rim of the pint glass to his mouth delicately, pursing soft lips in slow motion to take a long, sensual pull, the tip of his tongue darting out to catch stray foam as he pulled the glass away, his tongue a brighter pink, even, than his ridiculously gorgeous lips, almost bubblegum pink, Castiel’s brain helpfully supplied.

 

Castiel blinked guiltily and looked away, across the table to Anna and Ash, currently locked in a heated argument, both of them grinning fiercely and refusing to give ground. Castiel looked to Garth for explanation and Garth grinned and shrugged, mouthed “Halo.”

 

Castiel shook his head, rolling his eyes fondly. Not an argument that would be resolved anytime soon, then. He turned back to Dean, who was watching him, his expression calculating.  _ Oh god, did he see me staring at his mouth?  _ Castiel gulped and kept his glance firmly fixed on Dean’s eyes, his eyes flickering nervously.

 

“Pool tonight?” Castiel asked hopefully, but the band picked that moment to saunter towards the corner of the bar, chatting amiably with the owner, uncharacteristically out from behind the bar, who appeared to be a friend… Oh. Well, that explained that, and now the interlopers were clustering around, the lights were dimming, and the band was tuning their instruments and greeting the crowd… and starting up a rousing tune. A little folk, a little blues, a little R&B Castiel couldn’t place the genre but they sounded terrific, and his resentment melted away as he turned to see what Dean thought.

 

Dean was entranced, his heel bouncing up and down on the floor, his eyes shining, and he felt Castiel’s glance and turned to smile at him. People were starting to move. Anna was dancing in her seat with her back to them, facing the band, and when Dean stood up from his perch to knock back the rest of his beer, his hips twitching a little, his head nodding to the beat, Castiel caught Dean’s eye to tilt his head at Anna’s bouncing shoulders and back to Dean meaningfully.

 

Dean nodded his obedience and sidled around the table to invite her, the unspoken implication that Castiel would enjoy watching a simmering tension under Dean’s skin, his stomach a delightful whirr of flapping butterflies, Castiel’s eyes on him the most delicious of weights wrapping around his shoulders and curling around him like a lover’s embrace.

 

Dean offered Anna his arm, smiling down at her and then turning in delight towards the band as the singer belted out a particularly impressive note, entirely missing Anna’s glance at Castiel for permission, and the encouraging smile and nod that granted it. Anna leapt up willingly, followed Dean out into the milling crowd of people laughing and swaying, and Dean just… let the music flow through him, the way it always had since before he could walk, since his Mom would turn on the radio and smile at him as he waved chubby arms in the air. 

 

Since he was five years old playing music for Sammy in his crib. Eight years old alone in a hotel room watching Saturday Night Fever on TV after Sammy went to sleep. The awkward new kid at the school dance who wasn’t so awkward when the music started. The shy teenager swaying at his first slow dance with his hands on the girl’s waist, her arms stiffly around his neck. The twenty-year-old, tall and slender, good-looking and cocky, the girl in his arms melting as he spun her around and looked down at her through his lashes, her eyes fluttering, her face leaning up hopefully for a kiss. 

 

All of those moments swirled around Dean’s hips and roared up the length of his body like flames, an inferno that flared impossibly bright for an instant, consumed him to ash and fell away as he rose, reborn. Still tall but no longer slender, his clinging suit grazing every plane of his chest and back and thighs and ass; strong, like a man who worked with his hands. Still excruciatingly good-looking, but not cocky about it tonight, his aura laced instead with a shy hope the man he loved would give him a sign that he liked what he saw. His eyes sparkled, his lips parted with joy as he swayed, and when he let the music take him, Castiel heard audible gasps even as his own mouth fell open, his eyes flaring impossibly wide and the wildly thumping roar of his heart in his ears pounding to the beat of the music, to the tempo of the rhythm of the snap of Dean’s hips.

 

When Dean moved, he was liquid sex. The music flowed into his body as waves of sound and flowed back out of his body as waves of raw sex appeal, so powerful Castiel imagined he could see waves of heat shimmering in the air above him; every undulation of Dean’s hips a crackling invitation, every lyrical roll of his shoulders swirling eddies of vitality in the air in his wake, the soft quirk on his lips as he turned to smile at Castiel over Anna’s head  _ absolutely aware _ of the effect he was causing in a gently rippling circle around him.  

 

He was  _ mesmerizing _ , and Castiel snapped his mouth shut with a start, tried to collect himself, but it  _ had _ to be too late, Dean had surely seen him gaping. As if to agree that he had, Dean  _ grinned at him like a wolf,  _ his eyes soft and his face  _ smug,  _ before turning back to his dance partner to twirl her and dip her and set her back on her feet, laughing and breathless, swaying at an almost chaste distance from the sex god towering above her; a human shield against the dozen other women and several discreet men Castiel observed edging closer, drawn inexorably to the incandescent flame burning in their midst.

 

Castiel’s fear Dean would be upset by his open admiration was soothed by the smug smile on Dean’s lips as he turned back to Anna. Dean obviously expected him to be impressed by his dancing, so it was okay that he had been so obvious. Castiel’s mouth certainly wasn’t hanging open anymore and he steeled his face to be less openly in awe, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Dean for even an instant, couldn’t stop watching him  _ move _ . He couldn’t believe someone already so attractive could be holding an ace like that in his back pocket, and he split his time trying not to devour Dean with his eyes and fiercely, selfishly,  _ desperately _ hoping that Dean didn’t leave with anyone else. 

 

Castiel hated himself for it, he tried to push the feeling away, but he couldn’t control the jealousy - he knew it was jealousy now, ugly, and painful - at every naked stare Dean collected, at every adoring eye flutter and pretty girl trying to get closer to him, trying to steal him away. It was maddening and selfish and Castiel couldn’t help himself, couldn’t stop wanting to possessively keep Dean to himself and away from them and he fought himself tooth and nail while he stared at Dean, not even hearing the music anymore.

 

It was almost a relief when Dean glanced at the clock and blanched, leaned down to kiss Anna’s cheek and push through the crowd to their table to reach a hand out to touch Castiel’s wrist, the sparks flying from his fingertips so strong tonight they tickled up Castiel’s arm and down his spine and he suppressed a shudder, smiling up at Dean, trying to hide his palpable relief that Dean was leaving alone. Dean leaned his lips down to Castiel’s ear to be heard over the music, breathily murmured, “See you tomorrow?” 

 

Castiel wasn’t able to suppress the shudder at Dean’s breath on his ear, chills racing up and down his spine, and he nodded up at Dean mutely, admiring the way his eyes sparkled in the dim light. Dean beamed at him, squeezed his wrist, and released him. He waved at Garth and Ash, turned on his heel, and melted into the crowd towards the door, Castiel unable to stop himself watching to make sure he stepped out the door alone, which he absolutely did. 

 

Castiel breathed a heavy sigh of relief and turned back to watch the band. Now that he could hear them again, they were really fantastic. He’d have to see if they had a cassette or CD for sale after the show.

  
  


***

  
  


Sam piled into Baby without any complaint that Dean was pushing half an hour late, he just tossed his bag in the back seat and asked “Well? How’d it go?”

 

“There was an unexpected live band,” Dean deadpanned, his face carefully blank.

 

“Holy Shit, lucky break for you, huh?”  Sam grinned at his brother and Dean grinned in response when he felt it, still staring at the road.

 

“Hells yes it was.”  Dean nodded contentedly along to his Metallica bootleg, valiantly blaring from Baby’s speakers. It was just starting to hiss; he was going to have to make a new copy soon.

 

“WELL?” Sam tried to work up a glare, but he was too pleased for his brother, and Dean snorted, grinning softly.

 

“He liked the tie.” 

 

Dean sighed with pleasure, thinking about his evening. Castiel’s eyes flaring wide, watching him walk up in his suit. Cas’s speechless gawking up at his face, before he remembered to stop staring and smile back. The way his shoulders had relaxed when Dean leaned towards him, the tension draining from him; he’d been  _ waiting _ . The way Castiel had definitely, without a shadow of a doubt, been watching his mouth, looking guilty as hell to be caught, too. Dean thought about Cas asking him to dance, kinda, in a way. About letting the music flow through him; the look he’d caught on Castiel’s face, his mouth wide open before he remembered to slam it shut, his eyes wide in shock. Or want. The heavy weight of Castiel’s attention tonight, never leaving him once, laced with a tension that he hadn’t felt across their unspoken connection before. Dean’s lips curved into a satisfied smirk as he savored his guilty pleasure at the daggers he’d caught Cas glaring at the girls around him. 

 

“He couldn’t take his eyes off me, Sam. I think he was actually jealous someone else would pick me up.” 

 

“So you finally agree he’s into you, then?”

 

“Ninety nine point nine percent sure, yeah.”

 

“You gonna tell him?”

 

“Tomorrow night, Sam. You can order in from Maria, Okay?”

 

“Okay. I’m proud of you.” Sam smiled fondly at his brother and Dean met his eyes this time to smile back, before returning his attention to the road.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“You gonna wear the new cologne?”

 

“Nope. No tricks, Sam. Just gonna be me.”

 

“Good call.”

 

Dean nodded and fell silent, thinking furiously about how to make his move. This was important, maybe the most important thing ever, and he was still worrying hours after they pulled into the Horseshoe, ate a late dinner, and collapsed into their respective beds, Sam’s gentle snores finally lulling him to sleep in the wee hours before dawn.

 

 


	50. Hello, Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have come to the top of the roller coaster ride, all that shimmering tension, that moment of flying ends, and now the plunge, when gravity takes you and you hurtle down faster than feels like should be possible. I am releasing the next dozen chapters as a block, for no other reason than *I* cannot start this section without finishing it in it's entirety or it fucks me up for days, and *I* /know how it plays out/. Mind the tags; I think we earn most of them here. Take a deep breath. And don't take this plunge if you don't have time to read twelve chapters (36k) today, because there are no good stopping points for a little while.  
> I *promise* you it will be worth it. <3

Friday evening when Castiel heard Baby pull up out front, he was surprised when Dean popped into his front door, arms full of groceries, with no Sam in tow.

 

“No Sam?” asked Castiel, and then, “Do you need help with the bags?”

 

“No, I got it,” Dean answered, precariously balancing the armload all the way to drop several bags on the kitchen counter with a thump. “One trip,” he exclaimed proudly and Castiel rolled his eyes.

 

“I said I was gonna bring over a movie for your continuing education and Sam bagged out, said he’d rather study,” Dean explained, rummaging around in the bag to arrange his treasures on the counter in a row.

 

“If it were anyone but Sam I wouldn’t believe you,” Castiel retorted, grinning. He turned to examine what delicacies Dean had laid out so that he could guess what they were making, which cost him noticing the fleeting guilt crossing Dean’s face before his easy smile returned.

 

“Yeah well, he’s an epic nerd,” Dean teased, “like you.”  Dean amicably bumped Castiel’s shoulder with his own and Cas snorted, relishing the physical closeness, but not daring to lean into it.

 

Castiel leaned away after a few seconds to reach for one of the further ingredients, turning it to read the label.  “A  _ can _ of french fried onions?”

 

Dean waggled his eyebrows suggestively.  “Go on, Mister Smartypants. What are we making for dinner?”

 

Castiel examined the clues carefully.  There was a package of ground chuck, a package of bacon, cheddar cheese, worcestershire sauce. A can of bread crumbs. And the can of French fried onions.

 

“Hang on,” Dean added, producing a trifecta of mayo, mustard and ketchup he’d clearly brought from home out of a bag with a flourish. “I also brought the Holy Trinity. Well, that’s relish not mayo but whatever, I brought these because you suck at condiments.” 

 

Castiel rolled his eyes theatrically and Dean grinned, pleased with himself. 

 

“Oh and salt and pepper to taste, and I need two eggs. You always have eggs.”

 

He waited while Castiel puzzled seriously, turning the french fried onions slowly around and around in his hands with bafflement.

 

“AND,” added Dean, “last clue, this is supposed to pair nicely with a merlot. Which I brought you. And will agree to suffer through one glass of as penance for my sins.”

 

Castiel was completely stumped, staring in woe at the french fried onions.  “Well, I’d guess some sort of meatloaf except for the mayonnaise and these abominations.”

 

“DING DING DING!” crowed Dean, “We HAVE a WINNER! ...Paula Deen’s Bacon Cheeseburger Meatloaf, to be exact. You are  _ welcome _ .”

 

Castiel groaned in horror. “Bacon  _ and _ cheese  _ and _ mayonnaise  _ and _ these horrifying things… pair with merlot?”

 

Dean’s victory smile burned so bright it almost hurt to look at. “A published recipe, Castiel, that’s our only rule. She did it on her show a couple weeks ago and you can send in for the recipe, that  _ counts _ .” 

 

Castiel threw his hands up in mock surrender. 

 

“ALRIGHT, but we are MAKING a SALAD.”

 

Dean laughed outright at that, and dumped the last bag, which contained a head of lettuce, a tomato, a cucumber, and a bunch of what looked like some sort of assorted heirloom radishes.

 

“You love me, you can’t help it,” he teased.

 

Castiel just gazed at him softly, a fond smile teasing at his lips, forgetting himself until Dean’s eyes widened and then Castiel hurriedly cleared his throat and busied himself with washing the vegetables, cursing himself silently for concealing his feelings so poorly.  Dean collected mixing bowls and measuring spoons from the cabinets, the pink on his cheeks completely lost on Castiel, who was absorbed in carefully spinning lettuce dry in a contraption with a string and a pulley.

 

They prepared the abomination that Dean had selected from a handwritten index card that Dean had definitely  _ not  _ sent away for, but Castiel made no further protest. They worked side by side, bickering companionably, and if Dean brushed up against Castiel to reach for things or to get past each other in the kitchen, Castiel was not going to lean in but he sure as hell wasn’t going to get out of the way either.

 

Castiel was wheedled into having a beer now to save the merlot for actual dinner, and they retired to the living room with beers in hand, technically a meatloaf in the oven, a salad ready in a bowl in the fridge.

 

Dean had brought a bootleg copy of Super Troopers on VHS, insisting it was an underrated masterpiece, and Castiel could not logic away Dean’s best Sammy puppy dog face impression, sighed, and loaded the movie into the player.  

 

They took their usual places at each end of the couch with no Sam lounging between them. Castiel watched the movie and Dean mostly watched Cas, grinning at the good parts, arguing when Castiel didn’t find the right things funny.

 

When the timer went off they paused the movie and ate dinner at the kitchen table instead of the couch, because Dean insisted that wine made it fancy. To Castiel’s regret the pairing was actually not that bad.  The meatloaf was better than he anticipated and he had a second helping, shaking his head at Dean’s unseemly gloating.

 

They returned to the couch, Dean with another beer and Castiel with a second glass of wine. If Dean sat in Sam’s spot Castiel certainly wasn’t going to stop him, that was nothing he was doing, and when Dean eventually sprawled his legs across the couch sideways and leaned in to his side companionably Castiel sat straight upright as still as possible so nothing could be misconstrued but his body burned with nerves and delight.

 

When Dean chortled at a crass redneck-and-bear gag Castiel’s eyes were drawn to his face. He’d never seen him at this angle before. Dean’s face was beautiful in the dim light, his eyes shining with laughter, his lips stained red with wine, and Castiel found himself staring for longer than he should. When Dean’s head turned his way Castiel didn’t turn away right away, and when Dean looked up at him through his eyelashes Castiel was transfixed. 

 

For a longer moment than he meant to Castiel let himself fantasize that this is how Dean would look if he wanted to be kissed. He tried to memorize the vision in his mind as Dean looked up at him, his eyes accidentally dropping to watch Dean’s mouth swallow for a split second before, to his horror, he felt his traitorous body respond with a flush of arousal, and he turned abruptly, stiffly away, lurching off the couch away from the warm heat of Dean at his side and to the kitchen, to silently curse away his extremely conspicuous erection. He opened the fridge door and stuck his face in it, hoping against hope that Dean had not noticed or been made uncomfortable in any way.

 

“I’m going to finish the wine,” Castiel called out to Dean, “do you want another beer?” There was no response but he heard the bathroom door closing so he grabbed another beer for Dean and the wine bottle since he hadn’t brought his glass and returned to the couch, mischief mostly managed. He thought it was odd Dean hadn’t paused the movie but wasn’t sure if he should either, so he waited.

 

Dean spent long enough in the bathroom that Castiel was able to compose himself completely and he smiled at Dean when he came out and started to ask, “Do you want me to rewind?” but Dean didn’t look happy, he looked really upset, although Castiel couldn’t get a good read on him in the dim light and with Dean’s eyes fixed on his phone, clutched in his hand.  

 

“I gotta go,” Dean mumbled, his voice strained, “I’m sorry, Sam texted me and he needs a ride. He says he went out with some friends and the designated driver is drunk.”  

 

“Oh no!”  Castiel exclaimed, “Is there anything I can do? Do you want to bring him any leftovers?”

 

“Uh, no thanks Cas, I just gotta get going,” Dean choked out, not meeting Castiel’s eyes. He grabbed his coat and practically fled out the front door, leaving Castiel worried about Sam and also perplexed in passing that Dean would leave without his beloved condiments, but his mind kept replaying that other look on Dean’s face and he was distracted.

 

Castiel texted Dean to let him know if there was anything he needed, turned off the movie, and worried, turning the interaction over and over in his mind. Dean had been looking at his face, he hadn’t looked down before Castiel had turned his back abruptly. There was no way Dean could have seen his erection. Still, he worried desperately what Dean might think if he  _ had _ seen it. 

 

Would their friendship be over if Dean learned how he felt?  Dean obviously favored women, but that didn’t entirely rule out… No, he was deluding himself. Dean had never expressed any romantic or sexual interest in men. But on the other hand neither had Castiel, and Castiel was definitely only attracted to men. Attracted to Dean, in point of fact.  But not like any of the others, this felt different, and Castiel deliberated with himself over what was different until his phone vibrated with a text message.

 

 


	51. Hard Day’s Night

Dean stumbled out to Baby, his chest in agony and his stomach churning. He got inside, fired her up desperately, roared out of the driveway as fast as he could get away. He made it a couple blocks before pulling over to lean out the door to throw up Paula Deen’s Bacon Cheeseburger Meatloaf on the street. The merlot was much more disgusting the second time and it burned his throat and got into his nose for good measure. He leaned his head against the door for a minute, breathing heavily and spitting repeatedly, his eyes swimming. Then he pushed it down, down, slow breaths.  _ Get home. Just get home. _

 

He made it fifteen minutes before pulling into a liquor store and buying a fifth of Jack Daniels. Dean swished the puke flavor out of his mouth with Jack and spat in the parking lot, followed by a long swallow, then he capped and threw the bottle in the back seat to keep his hands off it.  Only sheer force of will and thinking furiously about keeping Sammy’s future safe - and not crashing Baby - kept the bottle untouched further until he was parking the Impala in the Horseshoe, then he had a quarter of the amber liquid swallowed before he was halfway up the stairs to fumble his door open, stumble inside.  

 

Sam was refereeing what looked like a Mortal Kombat tournament gone real life between  Jos é and Felipe and a gaggle of other kids arguing over whose turn it was next, but one look at Dean and he turned the console off to a chorus of protests. A meaningful glance from Sam, eyebrows pointing at Dean and the kids fell silent. Everyone here was at least conversationally fluent in “Dad’s been drinking,” and they tiptoed out the door without further protest as Sam shooed them, whispering “We’ll play again soon, promise.”  Sam took Dean’s coat, steadied him unobtrusively to the couch.

 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam soothed.  “Are you okay? I mean, obviously you’re not okay, sorry, I mean, do you want to talk about it?”

 

Dean took another swig from the bottle he was clutching, his eyes swimming.

 

“I chased the man off his own fucking couch, Sammy.”

 

“ _ What??? _ You told him how you felt and he left the room???”

 

“No, not with words.”  Dean sighed heavily. “I put my best move on him man, I gave him  _ the look _ .  He was turning away in disgust and out of the room in three seconds flat, he couldn’t even stand to look at me.”

 

“What happened?” asked Sam in horror.

 

“I left man, I told him you needed a ride home from some party and I bolted.”

 

Dean took another long pull off the bottle and it was half gone now. He stared at the amber liquid in the bottle bleakly, slurring as the liquor hit hard and all at once on his now empty stomach.  “I was so fucking shure Sam. You shoulda seen the way he looked at me in the kitchen, could’ve sworn he f-f-felt ‘t too.”

 

“n ‘ve ruined it now.”

 

A tear coursed down Dean’s cheek and he wiped it away angrily, blearily, as Sam gently took the bottle. Dean didn’t fight him. He curled into the corner of the couch with his arms defensively wrapped around himself and his eyes tightly shut, leaking silent tears. He looked smaller, younger than Sam ever remembered his big brother looking before.

 

Sam retrieved a blanket from Dean’s bed and pulled it over Dean as his face smoothed into sleep, tears glistening on his cheeks.  Dean’s phone started to vibrate in his coat and Sam fished it out. He read the text from Castiel, timestamped almost an hour ago, and retrieved his own phone from the kitchen table under some homework, texted Castiel from his phone.

 

“ _ I m home safe w dean thanks cas. he doesn’t feel good, I think flu or food poisoning or sthing. maybe give him 2 or 3 days _ ”

 

Castiel’s answering text actually delivered within a few minutes this time:

 

“ _ Oh no!  Glad you’re safe Sam. Is there anything I can do for Dean? _ ”

 

Sam thought and immediately discarded “Haven’t you done enough?” and sent instead 

 

_ “no thanks I got it.  I’ll have him get back 2 u when he feels better” _

 

Sam shook his head and tossed his phone back on the table, fished out a textbook, settled in on the other end of the couch from Dean.  

 

“ _ Man _ , I really thought there was something more there,” he muttered. “Well, your loss, Cas. You should be so lucky.”  

 

Sam watched Dean sleep for a minute, fondness and concern furrowing his forehead, then he shook his head wistfully and cracked open the textbook to read.

 

 


	52. Dean, Saturday

Sam woke up at six a.m. Saturday morning to the dulcet sounds of Dean retching into the toilet with the door open. Well, there was no going back to sleep after that, so he figured he’d go for a run, pick up some sustenance on his way back. 

 

Sam came back to Dean passed out on HIS bed this time, and Sam sighed and left doughnuts and coffee on the table. Sam tiptoed into the shower, wiping the puke splatters off the toilet rim with a wadded up piece of toilet paper and scowling at Dean’s prostrate form, now drooling into  _ his _ pillow.

 

By noon Dean was finally awake and groaning.  Sammy looked up from his textbook on the couch to watch Dean stagger to the kitchen, eschew the doughnuts and blearily take the coffee, only to mix it into some sort of Tennessee Irish Coffee atrocity with a generous dollop of Jack from the half empty bottle on the table before tilting it back.  

 

“OH, COME ON DEAN,” Sam exclaimed, but the middle finger and the look on Dean’s face when he finally turned his way gave him pause.

 

He hadn’t seen Dean looking this upset since… well, since Dad.   _ Shit, Castiel really fucked him up. _   Alright, maybe he could give him another couple days on this one.

 

“At least drink some water. Promise me.”

 

Dean shrugged, and Sam got up to get him a glass of water from the filtered pitcher in the fridge. Dean drained it in one go, then sucked back several more shots from the bottle, capped it, and took the bottle with him back into bed. He got into his own bed for a change, turned his back to Sam, and pulled the blankets over his head.

 

Sam did some quick math. A fifth was seven hundred and fifty milliliters, that was what sixteen shots?  Even with half a bottle of liquor Dean couldn’t fuck himself up too badly, Dean had quite a tolerance built up and he’d slept off and thrown up most of what he could have had left in him from last night.

 

Sam sighed and figured he was fine to keep his study date with Sarah and Jessica, and if he took the car Dean couldn’t get more booze. Win-win.

 

“Dean, I’m going to the library. I’m taking Baby. I’ll be back tonight. Drink more water okay? Promise me.”

 

Dean grunted noncommittally, but Sam took that firmly as a yes, refilled the glass of water and set that by the bed, then refilled the filter pitcher from the slightly rusty tap water and put it back in the fridge. He collected the books he needed and made half a dozen PB&J sandwiches, packing four and leaving two for Dean in the fridge. He snagged Dean’s keys and opened the door to leave, calling back over his shoulder, “I’m sorry, man. Really.” 

 

Dean remained silent, and Sam sighed and left, locking the door on his way out.

 

Dean waited until he heard Baby roar away, then he crawled out from under the blankets.  He felt like utter shit but the slight buzz he was on from the hair of the dog was helping him not care about it. Or about the weight pressing on his chest.  He kept replaying the look Castiel had given him in the kitchen, the answer to his teasing “You love me” coming back as that soft fond smile, then the way Cas had looked at him on the couch, that soft look down at him before Cas had realized what  _ the look _ meant... the way his face had registered horror and he had fled to the kitchen as fast as he could.

 

_ Fuuuuuck _ Castiel must have just felt platonic the whole time and Dean had been reading more into their friendship than was there. Cas had offered him a friendship he had come to treasure and in his greed for more he’d gone and ruined even that. A fresh wave of nausea propelled him to the bathroom and the coffee and most of the breakfast Jack came up.   _ What a fucking waste. _ Now he was going to need more to shut up his fucking brains from replaying the look of horror crossing Cas’s face over and over and over.

 

And to dull the growing ache of grief for what would never be. Dean flushed the puke, took a piss, brushed his teeth and spat, rinsed his face. He tried to avoid looking at himself in the mirror but caught a glimpse of his haggard face and glared, hating every part of the face that had tried to convince Castiel to kiss him and failed.  _ What had he even been thinking _ , that someone like Cas could want someone like him; Cas could have anyone he wanted. He probably did, all the time. Dean shut his eyes and his mind swirled down the road of all the dashed hopes for a future he had never even let himself picture before. 

 

For weeks - months maybe -  he had been feeling on the cusp of something magical, something… something he realized he’d let himself imagine was inevitable. He hadn’t wanted to spoil it by getting ahead of himself, he’d wanted to savor every moment, get it all just right, and now his traitorous fucking brains just went for it, picturing all the moments he would never get to share with Castiel after all. Trading trash talk and easy arguments about recipes and endless pool nights with Cas’s eyes on him. Baking for Holidays and grilling this summer and maybe taking road trips and...  holding hands for real, and taking Cas in his arms again but face to face this time, his mouth finally on Castiel’s beautiful, eternally chapped pink lips, Cas’s eyelashes fluttering, hands reaching, caressing…

 

Dean sank to the floor and just fucking sobbed, curled up on the cracked tiles and clutching his knees to his heart like he hadn’t done since he was four years old and his father told him he was too old to act like a baby anymore. When he was exhausted and his head was pounding and no more tears would come, he crawled back to his bed. He drank the water because he’d promised Sammy, but what was left in this bottle of Jack wasn’t going to be even close to enough. He dragged himself up to find his phone and flipped it open. The text from Cas still hanging out on the screen punched him in the gut and he barely managed to close out of it with shaking fingers, texted the first three people he could remember that owed him a favor to bring him a handle of Jack. He threw the phone away like it burned his fingers and tipped back the remainder of the bottle available while he waited for whoever would show up first.  

 

When Sam got home with a paper sack of Taco Bell for Dean at eight, Dean was passed out again, shivering under two blankets. He’d puked in the bed, which Sam was going to murder him for. Several handles of liquor were lined up on the table and another beside the bed with an alarming amount gone. He hadn’t touched the doughnuts. On inspection he hadn’t touched the PB&Js or the water in the filter.  

 

Sam’s stomach dropped, but when he tried to shake Dean awake and found that he could not was when the real fear set in, and he ran to get help with panic curling around his heart.  Strong arms carried Dean, limp and pungent in two-day old clothes and whiskey vomit, to his car, where he was gently deposited in the back seat, propped upright so he wouldn’t choke if he threw up again. Sammy was shooed into the passenger seat, calmer heads making sure he had Dean’s wallet and his own wallet and phone, taking the keys, driving them both to the hospital.

 

 


	53. Dean, Sunday

Dean woke up disoriented and feeling like shit. His head hurt and his throat felt raw. It was too bright and things were beeping and voices were talking somewhere nearby. He groaned and opened his eyes and was rewarded with a splitting headache for his troubles, before slamming them immediately shut again.

 

“ _ Dean? _ ”  Sam sounded so worried Dean tried again, cracking his eyes open just a sliver this time. Sam’s face hovered over his, looking tired and worried but relieved as hell to see him awake.

 

“Sam?” Dean choked around his sore throat and managed,  “What the hell, what’s going on?” And, on a moment’s reflection, “Water?”

 

“Let me ask the nurse if it’s OK,” Sam’s face answered, and disappeared from view.  Now there were white ceiling tiles and it was too bright so he shut his eyes again and wait, the  _ nurse _ ?   _ Oh Fuck. Hospital _ .

 

Dean made a monumental effort to open his eyes again, and this time he managed to focus. Okay. Arm, IV, IV bag, blanket, other arm, he could feel two legs. Not a car accident then, probably, nothing felt broken beyond his headache and his throat and his heart. His chest hurt and he could feel something heavy pressing down on him, waiting to be remembered.

 

Sam saved him, interrupting the encroaching dread by arriving with a plastic cup of water and a nurse.  The nurse checked Dean’s vital signs while Sam held the cup so Dean could manage a couple swallows.

 

“You scared your brother, Mister Winchester, and you had us worried for a bit there as well,” the nurse observed kindly as she made notes on her clipboard.  She was probably fifty years old, her gray hair was up in a bun, and she had little smiling dachshunds on her pink scrubs. 

 

“My name is Nancy. You can call me Nancy, ‘Nurse Nancy’ sounds a little silly, doesn’t it?”  She smiled at Dean and he managed a wan returning smile.

 

“Why does my throat hurt?” Dean figured he’d work up to the big questions.

 

“We had to intubate you, Sweet Pea, had to make sure to keep your airway clear.”

 

“They stuck a tube down your throat,” Sam translated helpfully, “In case you might throw up again and choke.”

 

That made no sense, so Dean went for the existential answer.

 

“Why am I here?” Dean asked, querulously. 

 

Nurse Nancy didn’t get a chance to respond, because Sam was all over that one.

 

“Dean, you gave yourself alcohol poisoning! You scared the hell out of me, man, I came home and I couldn’t wake you up and I thought… I thought maybe you were trying to…”

 

Sam couldn’t finish the sentence, his eyes red and watery, and Nurse Nancy patted his arm soothingly as he finished, his voice quavering. 

 

“I was so scared you weren’t going to wake up, Dean.”

 

Something was circling around the edges of Dean’s awareness, something terrible, he could feel it coming. 

 

“I’m sorry I scared you, Sammy.”

 

He reached his non-cyborg IV arm up to Sam and Sam gripped his hand very tight.

 

“It wasn’t on purpose Sammy, I would never, ever do that to you I swear to God. I just didn’t want to feel anything, I didn’t want to think about, about…”  _ Oh fuck, and there it was _ . The  _ why _ came flooding back, and Dean shut his eyes against the pain that flooded his entire body as the terrible thing landed and made itself at home in his memories.

 

_ Cas! Cas! Cas!  _ Dean’s heart screamed and his head hurt and he fought the tears but they came anyway, sneaking out traitorously from under his tightly shut eyelids. He pulled his hand back from Sam and Sam reluctantly let go so he could wipe his eyes.

 

“About Cas,” Sam supplied quietly, and Dean sniffed and nodded.

 

“Yeah, about Cas,” Dean agreed, breathing deeply and pushing it down, down, for Sam.  _ Survive. Keep going. For Sam. Dad’s gone now, you’re all he’s got. You can’t do this to Sam _ .

 

Nurse Nancy, who seemed to still be there although they had both forgotten about her, offered brightly, “Well, I’ll be going now, the Doctor will be in to see you in a few minutes, Dean, but I’m sure he’ll want to keep you at least one more night for observation.”

 

She bustled out and Dean was confused. “Another night? How long? -”

 

“It’s Sunday night, Dean, like ten pm. You’ve been unconscious for over twenty-four hours, although they said you were just regular sleeping for the last few hours of it…”

 

“I have a meeting Monday… tomorrow morning!” Dean was panicking, trying to sit up.

 

“ _ No, Dean! _ ” Sam was so forceful Dean was shocked into laying still, Sam’s insistence practically pushing him down by the shoulders. 

 

“ _ Dean, you scared the shit out of me. _ For real. You are gonna stay here until they say you’re safe to come home. And you are going to promise me no more alcohol until you’re through this.”

 

Sam glared down at him, angry and scared, his ridiculous floppy hair falling down around his face.  Dean stared up at his little brother’s earnest face and he made the choice he would always make; always, every time. 

 

“Okay Sammy. Whatever you need, you got it.”

 

“Promise?”

 

“I promise.”

 

Sam’s face transitioned to worried but satisfied, and the weight pressing down on Dean’s chest eased just a tiny bit.  _ Enough. It would have to be enough. _

 

“I have to figure out a way to call out sick though Sam, did you bring my phone?”

 

“Shit, no… Oh, but I have mine.”

 

They looked at each other in horror as they both realized the only number Sam had that was going to help.

 

“You can’t tell him anything!” Dean exclaimed, panicking all over again.

 

“Um, I texted him you were sick on Friday, Dean, maybe with a flu. Your work will need to know you have a Doctor’s note, right, so it’s excused? They don’t have to know for what, right? I’ll just tell him your flu got bad and ask him to let your boss know, okay?”

 

Dean thought about that, his stomach cramping in brand new ways.   _ Oh god _ .

 

“Yeah, okay. I wish we had my phone.”

 

“I know, I’m sorry I forgot.” Sam looked crestfallen.

 

“This isn’t on you, Sam, this is a million percent my fault. I’m really sorry.”

 

“It’s okay, Dean. I’m really sorry about Cas. You’ve got it bad, man.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes and Sam smiled at him for the first time since he’d woken up.

 

“I know Sammy. I know.”

 

 


	54. Castiel’s Weekend

Castiel’s weekend passed slowly, his mind preoccupied. Worry for Dean’s illness alternated with replaying Dean’s face staring up at him with what he yearned to believe looked like desire, Dean’s eyes glittering like emeralds through his sweeping lashes, his pupils wide in the dark room, his parted lips stained red with wine.

 

Castiel cleaned the kitchen and watered his garden and went for a long run and fought his urges tooth and nail, but by late Saturday night his skin was crawling and there was nothing for it but to give in, wrap his hand around his cock, and accept that acres of freckled skin were permanently overwritten in his mind’s desire with Dean’s face, looking like he wanted to be kissed. 

 

The shame and guilt Castiel felt picturing Dean did nothing to stop his mind embellishing the visual, leaning forward in his fantasy to press his lips and tongue to Dean’s parted lips, to take possession of his mouth and tongue and to lick his way down Dean’s body, watching him gasp and moan and shudder and to take Dean’s cock deep in his throat, the groan of his imaginary Dean coinciding with his own as he shuddered and spilled his pleasure into his hand and the waiting towel beneath him.

 

Castiel cleaned up, frowning softly. He had never fantasized a face before, never imagined touching anyone else, and it felt different, simultaneously much more and much less satisfying. His body felt good, aftershocks of pleasure still dancing along his skin, but his chest hurt, the wanting there stronger than before. He didn't know what to do, so after a few minutes when his yearning didn't ease he tried again, offering imaginary Dean’s parted lips his cock instead of his mouth. That visual had him gasping and panting in moments, the pleasure overwhelming, the hollow ache in his chest increasing by equal measure.

 

His skin wasn't crawling at least, his body’s demands sated, so he showered to wash away his sin and went to bed to sleep this time, only to lay awake tossing and turning for hours before finally drifting off just before dawn. His mind conjured restless dreams of Dean alone in a dark room, desperate to be kissed, while Castiel tried over and over to go to him but could not find the right door. 

  
  


***

  
  


Sunday morning Castiel woke after ten, drenched in sweat and exhausted from a terrible night’s restless sleep. He shut his eyes and tried for more rest since he distinctly remembered hearing birds singing before falling asleep, but there was nothing for it, his uncooperative mind just churned with worry and desire for a man he could not have, would never have, and after an hour he gave up. Castiel crawled out of bed and showered even though he’d showered last night, since he was soaked in sweat and feeling like ass. A shower always helped.

 

The shower did help, but only marginally. Castiel figured if he had a head start on being exhausted why not go whole hog today and exhaust his body beyond any possibility of continued insomnia?  He pulled on running shorts, a jogging shirt, and sneakers, and headed downstairs to eat something and hydrate before heading out.

 

Several hours later Castiel returned home well and truly ready to drop. He was toweling off from his second shower before he remembered he had homework from group. Ugh. He had some workbook exercises and he was supposed to have put in several hours of Counter-Strike this week, any server would do as long as he put the time in. Scheduling everyone at the same time had turned out to be impossible, so they were on the honor system now. Castiel was constitutionally unable to cheat; honor systems brought him to his knees every time. He ordered a pizza and slumped onto the couch with his laptop to get in, what was he short this week? Jesus, he hadn’t played at all. What were they up to, four hours a week?

 

Castiel checked the clock, it was late afternoon but he should be fine to have caffeine. It would wear off before bed and he was starting to get a headache anyway from skipping it this morning. He brewed a pot of coffee while he waited for his pizza to show, completed his workbook exercises first and then popped online to the server he and the guys favored. Neither Sam nor Dean were online. Their absence deflated his tiny hope he’d see them there and added a sinker to the little pile of lead already collecting in the eddies low in his stomach.

 

He sighed and jumped into a game at random, got half an hour of game time in before the pizza guy banged on the door. Coffee and pizza turned out to be a less than optimal pairing, but he forced himself to choke down a couple servings of each before slumping back onto the couch. He fished his phone off the side table, composed and then deleted half a dozen texts to Dean, none of which were satisfactory. Finally he settled on simple and direct, typed out

 

“ _ I hope you feel better. Let me know if I can do anything. _ ” 

 

and pressed send. There was nothing else to say. Dean could never know how he felt and he was going to have to get a handle on himself pretty goddamn quick or he’d ruin everything.  Castiel stared at his phone, too tired to work up the denial he’d been carefully building around his mind for months.

 

He... wanted Dean. Desperately. But it was more than that, it wasn’t just that Dean was ridiculously attractive and that for once he wanted to touch and taste. It was… the way Dean smiled when he thought he was funny, the way he sulked if Castiel held out on him and didn’t laugh right away. The way he stepped up to help people without even thinking about it. His love for Sam, never thinking about himself if Sam needed anything at all. The quiet way he hummed to himself when he was cooking; he didn’t even know he was doing it. His delight when he managed to take Cas down in a Counter-Strike or Halo round, so pure that Castiel  _ almost _ wanted to let him win. The way his eyes glowed in a dark room. Christ almighty, he couldn’t deny it anymore, he was in love with Dean Winchester. 

 

But… but he  _ had _ to deny it, Dean couldn’t know or their friendship would surely be over. Dean would be made uncomfortable at best, disgusted or angry at worst. Castiel had heard horror stories in baby gay catechism, the perils of falling in love with a straight guy, the pain; the humiliation and futility of it all. He had never in a lifetime of speculation imagined whatever was broken inside him would repair itself enough to want anyone. Naturally, after well over a decade of perfectly adequate solitude, of  _ course _ it was his god-forsaken karma to fall for someone he could never, ever have.

 

Castiel groaned, too tired to weep, too pragmatic to give up. He did not want to give this up. He would do anything to keep Dean in his life. He needed help. He had to talk to someone who had more experience in this kind of thing. He’d ask Anna tomorrow, she’d know just what to do.  

 

Problem solving procrastinated, Castiel turned back to his homework. He should be able to get it wrapped up, be in bed by ten. He jumped into another game, his reaction time awful, and found himself fragged in under a minute. This was really going to do a number on his stats. He concentrated and did a little better the next round. Castiel lost himself in the competition so he practically jumped out of his skin when his phone vibrated on the table beside him, hitting a resonance with the table that made the buzzing loud and insistent.

 

Castiel dropped the game to grab at his phone, hoping beyond hope it was Dean, but it wasn’t. It was Sam.

 

“ _ hi cas. dean is @ hospital. hes fine. needed fluids from flu. forgot phone. can u pls let boss know hes out sick? doc says 1 wk _ ”

 

Castiel’s stomach dropped through the floor. Dean was in the hospital and here he’d been fantasizing and - he felt sick, and ashamed, worried, and hurt all at once. Sam obviously had reached out to him as the only contact saved in his phone who could get the message to work tomorrow - and not before - so his help wasn’t wanted or needed with Dean’s illness. Somehow that hurt even more than the excruciating shame of knowing he had pleasured himself thinking about Dean while Dean was suffering in the hospital. 

 

He still had to answer. He took his phone in shaking hands and typed out: 

 

“ _ Of course I will. I’m so sorry. Send him my best. _ ”

 

There was nothing else he could say. He could never send his love. Castiel shut down his laptop and dragged himself upstairs. He brushed his teeth, washed his face, and took two of the anti-anxiety meds he despised. Catatonic sounded pretty good right now. Castiel lay down on his side, waiting for the drugs to kick in, wrapping his arms around his spare pillow to counter the burning in his stomach with something cool against his skin. 

 

The pillow was a bad idea; it reminded him of wrapping his arms around Dean on the day they became friends, and Castiel clutched it to his chest and finally wept, sobs racking his body, hot tears of sorrow and shame squeezing out from beneath his clenched eyelids and coursing down his cheeks until at long last sleep took him, smoothing his face, making him look ten years younger, soft and sad, tears glittering on his face in the cool moonlight.

 

 


	55. Across the Universe

Monday morning Castiel drove to work in a haze. The pill fog started to lift by the time he pulled into the parking garage but his brain was nowhere near sharp yet. The double dose had been a mistake. He stopped by Zachariah’s office to deliver Sam’s message and discovered that Zachariah was a germaphobe, covering his mouth and demanding to know whether Castiel had been exposed. He answered in the negative - he would have succumbed already if he were - and Zachariah uncovered his mouth reluctantly to issue a decree.  

 

“You tell Dean to take two weeks, I do not want to see him back here until two full weeks have passed, you hear me? This is why we have sick leave, I  _ cannot _ have the flu this year, and I  _ won’t _ have it running through this office.”

 

“Yes, Sir.” Castiel nodded, and ducked out before Zachariah could change his mind and kick him out of the office as well, just in case.

 

He repaired to his cubicle and texted Sam.

 

“ _ Boss says Dean must take two weeks off, no discussion. Send my best. Anything I can do let me know. _ ”

 

Castiel sat in his chair, staring blankly at his monitor for a few minutes without even turning it on, then ducked over to Anna’s desk, knocked on her cubicle.

 

“What’s up Hon?” she asked, “You look awful. What happened?”

 

Castiel fought sudden tears. Anna caring suddenly made it really hard to keep his composure, everything threatening to spill over at once. He held his hand up to resist what looked like an impending leap to hold him, he couldn’t do this right now.

 

“Can we do lunch?” he asked finally, his voice only a little rough. 

 

“Yes, absolutely,” she assured him, her eyes wide. “Or breakfast, right now, if you need me.”

 

“I need the pills to wear off first,” Castiel admitted. “Prescription,” he added, as Anna’s eyebrows rose, “for anxiety. My brain won’t spin up.”   
  


“Oh, yeah, they do that,” Anna nodded understandingly.  “Here, go do some of this data entry. We’ll do lunch.”

 

Castiel accepted the manilla folder of busywork gratefully, and returned to his cubicle to wait for the fog to lift.

 

By lunchtime Castiel’s brains were firing on a couple more cylinders, and he joined Anna.  “Can we get Thai?” he asked plaintively. The ruse to go somewhere where they had to sit in a car was not lost on Anna, who was running on all her cylinders.  

 

“Sure,” she nodded. “Or, we can get our usual sandwiches and then sit in my car and talk,” she countered gently, “I came in early and parked on the street under a tree.”

 

Castiel nodded gratefully and within fifteen minutes he was clutching a sandwich in the passenger seat of Anna’s tiny car. It was a roomier than he had anticipated.

 

“This is more spacious than I expected,” Cas observed, and Anna elbowed him, chewing a potato chip from the single-serving foil bag that came with her sandwich.

 

“Spill, Cas.  What’s going on?”

 

Castiel sighed, and put his sandwich down in his lap without unwrapping it.

 

“Anna, I’m in love with Dean, and it’s killing me. I don’t know how to stop feeling like this.”

 

Anna’s face went from delighted to crestfallen in a split second.  “Why would you want to stop, Cas? Wait, how did you finally figure it out? Tell me  _ everything _ .”

 

Castiel ran his hand through his hair, collecting his thoughts.  “I guess I realized I was physically attracted to him on New Year’s Eve when I had a panic attack during the fireworks and Dean, uh, held me through them.” Anna’s eyes were twin moons but she didn’t say a word, so Castiel continued haltingly, “Uh, Dean was really tired and fell asleep holding me and I, uh, I had a physical reaction. Arousal.”

 

Anna nodded, unsurprised.  “I thought that might happen eventually, Cas. That’s a good thing isn’t it?”

 

Castiel shook his head. “Dean likes women, Anna. You of all people should know that.”

 

Anna stared at Castiel earnestly. “You know that some guys like women  _ and  _ other guys, right Cas?”

 

“Yes Anna, I know that. I don’t think Dean does though, I’ve never seen him look at any men the way he looks at women.”

 

Anna held her tongue, waiting.

 

“Okay, so last Friday we were making dinner…” 

 

Castiel paused for a moment, searching for a way to share without entirely incriminating himself or revealing the depths of his shame.  Anna waited patiently, her sandwich forgotten in her lap, and Castiel was overcome with a rush of gratitude. He blinked away tears, whispered, “Thank you Anna.”

 

“I love you too,” she answered, rubbing his arm. “NOW TELL ME.”

 

“Okay okay, but I don’t know how to… “ He floundered for a moment, then just dove in.

 

“I guess I hadn’t realized how strong my feelings for Dean were becoming until my body started to react to him. Sam usually comes to dinner, but this time Dean showed up alone. He brought a terrible movie to make me watch, and he sat in the middle where Sam usually sits so he could sprawl out like he likes.” 

 

Castiel smiled fondly, thinking about Dean flowing gracefully into any available space, and Anna smiled fondly just to see him smile.  

 

“Uh, so I looked at him while we were watching the movie and I imagined… I imagined kissing him, and I got an erection, and I ran away before he could notice.”  Castiel shuddered; that sounded awful, but it was the truth. 

 

“And then he had to go because Sam texted he needed a ride and I haven’t thought of anything but kissing Dean since Friday. I… I fantasized about him Anna, and it turns out he was in the hospital with the flu and I feel so ashamed I could  _ die _ and he can never know any of this. I’m in love with him and I’m afraid if he finds out he’ll never speak to me again. How do I stop it?”

 

Castiel stared at Anna in such anguish, his eyes welling with tears, that Anna’s eyes got misty too. She held his hands and shook her head gently. 

 

“This is not what I wanted for you Cas. I swear this whole time I thought Dean had feelings for you too. I’m not convinced he doesn’t, but I’m not going to sugarcoat it; there’s always a risk that if you tell him and he doesn’t want you back…”  Castiel shuddered and Anna nodded. “Yeah, exactly. Straight guys aren’t always so understanding when their gay friends want them.”

 

Castiel sighed and took a deep breath. “What do I do?”

 

“It depends. If I could choose for you, I’d vote you tell him how you feel, in case he’s in love with you too and then you get to make out and do it like little gay bunnies and be  _ happy _ .” She grinned ruefully at Castiel. “But this is your life we’re talking about, not mine, Cas.  Can you face the loss if you tell him and he’s not into you? If he rejects your friendship because of it?”

 

Castiel could feel the grief hovering, staring down the bleakness of his life with a Dean-shaped hole in it where there had been light and laughter and joy. He shut his eyes and shook his head, whispered, “ _ I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. _ ”

 

“Shhh, it’s okay.” Anna held his hand in both of hers, leaned into him. “You can’t stop it. But you can learn to live with it, if you can’t bear to live without him. Be the best friend you know how. Don’t overreach. No lingering glances, no dropping hints by accident. Be careful what you say. Never drink too much when you’re together. Keep your hands and your eyes to yourself, and we’ll both hold out hope that maybe if he’s into you he’ll make the first move.”  She patted his hand. “And if he isn’t, maybe hide your jealousy a little better when he picks up girls, know what I’m saying?”

 

Castiel nodded, laughing a little. “I was pretty obvious that time.”

 

“Yeah you were.”  Anna smiled at him and picked up her sandwich. “Eat up,” she commanded, “I need you at full power when I kick your ass, no excuses.”

 

Castiel smiled at last. “Bring it, woman,” he challenged, “I shall celebrate to see your village in flames!”

 

Anna punched him lightly in the arm and stuck her tongue out, and they finished their meals in companionable silence.

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


Monday evening the hospital finally let Dean go home. He pulled on his dirty jeans commando and elected to go shirtless rather than wear the vomit-stained shirt he was handed back in a separate ziplock bag.

 

Sam hadn’t left his side until he was released, tapping away on his phone or scribbling notes from the textbooks a nearby classmate had swung by to loan him this morning, and he eagerly wheeled Dean to the exit in the required wheelchair, careening around the corners like a child, until Dean felt sick and cried uncle. Dean drove them home, his bare back sticking to Baby’s leather upholstery, and when they pulled into the Horseshoe they were minor celebrities, everyone who was around coming over to Baby to make sure Dean was okay.

 

Dean was touched, and grateful, and embarrassed, waving away the attention gruffly. “I’m fine, guys, thank you, brought this on myself. I smell awful,” he added, refusing offered hugs from the womenfolk, “Let me go take a shower okay?”  

 

There were big hand claps on his back and smaller hands squeezing his hands that didn’t care that Dean smelled and a knowing glance from Alex that gave him pause. Sam, on the other hand, accepted offered hugs and handshakes gladly, whispering his thanks into long black hair and gray hair alike, his relief from his weekend of terror clamped down hard to be strong for Dean, but felt all the same in tight embraces and relieved smiles that had worried with him, more than he knew.

 

Soon enough Sam and Dean were breaking away to get inside so Dean could clean up, and that was when Dean’s eyes stung and Sam quietly whispered, “Holy Shit.”  Sam had definitely seen Alex lock up as he was herded out behind the men carefully carrying Dean, but a locked door was no barrier to anyone in this neighborhood; instead it was understood nobody poached on home turf.  

 

Their place was spotless, cleaner than it had been when they moved in. Someone had cleaned the sheets of vomit and made both their beds, There were flowers on the table with a “Get Well” sign made in crayon, a little pile of get well cards in children’s handwriting. And a post-it note on the fridge that said “Abrir lentamente!”

 

Sam crossed to the fridge, curiosity killing him, and opened slowly. It was a good thing, too, Dean was right behind him dying to know and it took both of them to catch and push back the avalanche of food in various containers that tried to come falling out; it was a ridiculous amount. Sam grabbed several of the most precarious containers and balanced the stack to the table, making delighted noises, and Dean shook his head and smiled, utterly touched by the gesture.

 

“I’m gonna shower, but don’t wait on me,” Dean instructed, “I’m not hungry.”  He smiled to see his brother opening containers and popping off lids like it was Christmas morning. “Knock yourself out.”  

 

“Oh I will,” Sam answered, his mouth already full, despite not yet having retrieved silverware. “I’m starving.”

 

“You’re always starving,” Dean retorted, stripping off his jeans and grabbing a clean towel, since their laundry was mysteriously all done and folded in a laundry basket beside the dresser.

 

“No, but for real, the hospital food was disgusting,” Sam answered, mouth still full but he had a fork in his hand now at least.

 

Dean didn’t remember eating anything at the hospital. He shook his head fondly at Sam and shut the bathroom door. Someone had cleaned the bathroom. The tiles were almost white; the grout too. Dean thought they were yellow to match the olive green. Holy Shit, well, that was an improvement, he’d have to figure out who did that, bake them a goddamn pie.  He winced, remembering whose oven he’d been baking pies in, and his stomach started to hurt again. Dean climbed into the shower when the water was hot enough, let the water sluice away days’ worth of rancid sweat, the memory of vomit, and layers of IV adhesive tape residue. 

 

The activity swirling around him had been a welcome distraction. Alone with his thoughts, Dean’s mind churned and his chest ached. He wanted to get blackout drunk, but he had promised Sam. He felt empty, drained, like wherever his tears came from was squeezed dry, wrung out, same as the place he kept hope and happiness. He sighed, turned off the water, toweled off. Everything felt exhausting, oppressive. 

 

Dean forced himself to brush his teeth because his mouth tasted like shit. He hung up his towel, pulled on boxers and sweatpants, and located his walkman and Metallica cassette, still inside from New Year’s Eve with Cas. He fought bile, found his gaming headset. He shook his head at Sam’s offer of food, but choked down a glass of water at Sam’s insistence. Dean lay down on top of his clean sheets, pulled on the headset, closed his eyes, and turned the music up loud enough to drown out his thoughts.

  
  


***

  
  


Dean spent the next two days in bed with his headphones blaring and his eyes shut, sleeping as much as he could and refusing offers of food or conversation. He drank the Gatorade Sam left by the bed and turned his cassette over every time it ended and tried as hard as he could not to think. By Thursday morning the cartilage in his ears was sore from his headphones and his stomach was gnawing a hole through his intestines, so he crawled out of bed to check the fridge and maybe take a shower. 

 

Dean managed a couple bites of food before the nausea set in, but he ate the whole burrito anyway. It didn’t feel like it would come back up, so that was something.  He crawled to the shower and managed to get halfway clean before the grief, waiting in the silence, hit him like a ton of bricks and he fell to his knees, retching. Food didn’t come up, instead the retching transitioned smoothly to body-wracking sobs and he fought as hard as he could to stop, not to let it pull him under.

 

Dean gulped air and held each breath for as long as he could while he dried off, got dressed with shaking fingers, and grabbed his car keys off the kitchen table. Sam must have found a ride in today so he didn’t have to pay for gas or parking. Dean felt guilty as shit but dragged himself down to Baby anyway to sit in the driver’s seat, shove the cassette in, turn it up loud enough to rattle the windows and drown out his thoughts. He made it through a couple songs before there was a knock on the window that startled the bejeezus out of him. He rolled it down so Alejandro could lean in, grinning. 

 

“No idling zone, gringo.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes and Alejandro added seriously “Turn that mierda down, I’m coming in there.” That was new.  Dean turned the stereo off as Alex went around to open the passenger door, slid into Sam’s seat.  

 

“This is nice,” he said approvingly, running his hands along the dash, and Dean nodded, pleased. “You take good care of her.”

 

Dean shrugged. “Yes.”

 

“I’m sorry Castiel broke up with you,” Alex offered seriously, his face sincere.

 

“What? No!” Dean was taken off guard. “We weren’t dating, Alex!”

 

“If you say so.” Alex looked skeptical, but his expression transitioned to sympathy as he studied Dean’s dejected face. “Okay, so you weren’t. But you wanted to be?”

 

Dean stared at his hands where they were gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles white. He didn’t dare lie to Alex, not ever, but this was difficult to even look at directly, let alone say out loud. He forced his hands and shoulders to relax, ran his hands through his damp hair, and turned to look Alex in the eye.

 

“More than anything. Yes. I wanted to be. But…”

 

Alex waited, his brows furrowed with sympathy, and Dean realized slowly that Alex might be exactly the best person he could be talking to right now. He took a deep breath and tried to put his feelings into words.

 

“I want him Alex. More than I’ve ever wanted anybody. I didn’t even know I liked guys.” That got an eyebrow but no comment and Dean continued, stumbling over his words but getting them out as best he could. 

 

“It… it took me fucking forever to realize I how I felt about him and Sam had to tell me Cas was gay. And that - that I was… that I’m in love with him. I had no idea.”

 

Alex barked a laugh at that but looked apologetic as Hell right after, and Dean shook his head and smiled wanly in return. 

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed all the time but I really had no clue. It’s just…” His face fell as he continued, “I thought - I hoped - look, I made a pass at him on Friday night and he rejected me. He doesn’t want me back.”  To Dean’s shame his eyes welled with tears and he wiped at them angrily, turning away from Alex so he wouldn’t see.

 

“Oh  Cariño, I’m so sorry.” Alex soothed, sliding across the bench seat to reach an arm around Dean and lean in to his side as he fought tears. “I didn’t believe him when he said there was nothing between you, I really thought there was something there.”  He squeezed Dean’s arm with his free hand. 

 

“He said that?” Dean asked, his voice cracking.

 

“Not in so many words,” Alex answered gently. “Come to think of it he might have just meant you weren’t fucking; I am certain he cares about you very much.”

 

Alejandro’s phrasing successfully pulled Dean out of his sorrow, his spluttering making Alex grin like a wolf. He released Dean from his sidearm hug and slid back to the passenger seat. “Listen, mi amigo, you cannot hide from heartbreak like this; it will wait for you until you face it.”

 

Dean studied Alejandro’s face as Alex stared earnestly back, his gentle smile so at odds with his face tattoo, and he sighed heavily. “What do I do?”

 

“You keep busy. Debes trabajar, like you’ve never worked before, until you are so weary you cannot stand up, and tu mente will come to terms with the pain while you do it.” Alex instructed.

 

“But I’m kicked out of work for two weeks, and he’s  _ there,”  _ Dean whined plaintively.

 

“Not soft work like your job selling lies to gringos.” Alex said firmly, to Dean’s half-hearted protest noises. It was a fair cop, and they both knew it. “Hard work, the kind you do with tus manos. Come on, Manuel will keep you busy.”

 

Dean nodded and followed Alex as they got out of the car and headed towards Big Man’s apartment to get marching orders for Dean. 

 

“Thanks Alex,” he whispered, and Alex punched him gently in the shoulder in response. “T ú eres un hombre bueno, Dean, even though you’re muy guapo,” he said quietly. “Castiel is a fool.”

 

Dean didn’t know what to say, but the flush on his cheeks said plenty.

  
  


***

  
  


Big Man listened carefully to Alejandro’s explanation in rapid-fire Spanish that went by far too quickly for Dean to catch more than a word or two, while Dean waited despondently by Manuel’s apartment door, hands in his pockets. Big Man nodded, turned to address Dean.

 

“I am sorry, Dean” he said earnestly. “Cuestiones del coraz ó n - matter of the heart - are harder to heal than a bullet wound.”  He pointed to a scar Dean had never noticed before on his shoulder, intricately wound into the pattern of a tattoo so that it became part of the design. Dean’s eyebrows rose, curious, and Manuel turned to show the exit, also gorgeously woven into ink but now that it was pointed out Dean was surprised he had never noticed before.

 

“That’s beautiful.” Dean said admiringly. 

 

“Yes,” Big Man said. “I had this done as a reminder that  el dolor deja una marca \- pain leaves a mark - but it does not have to make us ugly. We choose our own path, Dean.“  He traced the bullet scar with his finger, musing. “This hurt like una puta, but it was nothing compared to losing my Renee. Dios but I still miss her.” 

 

Dean hand flew to his mouth, horrified. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. 

 

Big Man waved a hand dismissively “No no, it’s not like that Dean, she’s fine. She left me for a big-time real estate developer I was trying to make a deal with. He was not as guapo as all of  _ this _ ,” Manuel said, beaming his giant white smile at Dean and fanning a hand to indicate his torso, ending with a rude gesture suggesting a size that made Dean grin and Alex shake his head. “But he could keep her in far more - more comfort than I could,” Manuel added, gesturing to the sweep of the Horseshoe. “I don’t blame her, Dean, she always begged me to come away, move somewhere  con árboles y hierba \-  somewhere with trees and grass.”

 

Dean‘s face held a question, but Big Man shook his head in response. “It’s not so easy as that Dean. What do you think happens to my hombres here if I go? Where will Mrs Rodrìguez go if I sell this place? Maria with Felipe and Jos é ? Juan Pablo still has four years on his bid upstate. My people cannot pay the rents in this city if I sell, and my first responsibility is to the ones I call mi familia. All of them,” he added, looking Dean squarely in the eye.

 

Dean stared up at Big Man, humbled, and utterly grateful. “I didn’t know,” he mumbled.

 

“You are muy inteligente Dean,” Big Man said, “but sometimes you do not see what is in front of you, si?” He shared a glance with Alejandro and they both looked at Dean, smiling.

 

“Si,” Dean admitted, sighing and nodding.

 

“I will keep you busy, Dean, until you go back to your job.” Manuel decreed. “We are making apartments in a place I bought in the neighborhood, do you know how to sheetrock?” Big Man shook his head at Dean’s blank stare.

 

“No matter, it is exactly like filling dents with bondo and I know you know how to do this. My boys will teach you.”

 

Dean nodded again, as though he had a choice, and Big Man clapped him on the back gently. 

 

“El trabajo will distract you until the wound doesn’t bleed so badly, mi amigo. Listen, Dean, Alejandro has been mi mejor amigo since  teníamos cinco años - since  we were both five years old. He is the same man today as he was when we were  niños and  lo amo como mi hermano - I love this man like my brother, Dean. Mejor que mi hermano, de verdad, mi hermano es un idiota.” Manuel grinned at Alex fondly before turning his attention back to Dean. “Alejandro and I grew up together, and we learned about la vida together, do you understand?” he asked, as Alex nodded in agreement. 

 

“Not everyone around here understands we do not choose who we love, que el amor nos elige  - love chooses us. Whatever you wish we will support you, but it would be más fácil for you -“

 

“-  _ much _ easier - ” Alex agreed, nodding seriously.  

 

“- if you do not speak of this thing,” Big Man finished. “The world is a hard place, Dean, and maybe it is too much for you right now to fight for  la aceptación de un pecado \- how do you say - to find acceptance for this sin you did not even get to commit, si?”    

 

Dean’s eyes flared wide. In his despondence he hadn’t even thought about the fucking rumor mill in this place - everyone always knew everything about everyone - and the abject panic on his face communicated his preference in no uncertain terms. 

 

“ _ Oh Fuck, _ ” he whispered, reaching out to steady himself with a hand on the concrete wall, his other hand coming up to grip the back of his own neck as he shrank into himself in mortification. 

 

“ _ OhFuckOhFuckOhFuck. _ ”

 

“No one will know,” Big Man promised soothingly, reaching out to steady Dean’s shoulder gently as he fought down his panic. “Just Alex and I, te lo prometo.“

 

“It is no one’s business,” Alex assured him. “We will say you lost a friend, and no one will ask any questions. Si?”

 

Dean recoiled like he’d been slapped. He felt like he’d been punched in the stomach, but it was true, _ it was true _ . Alex stared at him in dismay, his face registering what a horrible thing that had been to say.  “Lo siento mucho - I’m  _ so  _ sorry, Dean,” he began, but Dean waved a hand.

 

“No, it’s true,” he groaned, gulping air and swallowing hard. “It’s true,  _ it’s true _ . Just - please - say it where I can't hear, okay?”

 

“You got it Dean.” Alex agreed, his face terribly apologetic. “Come on. Get your phone and wallet and  te llevaré allí - I will take you to this place. Your Baby will not be safe there, not yet.”

 

Dean nodded and headed listlessly to his apartment to get his things. He felt like utter shit but the terror of everyone finding out  _ why _ had at least kicked him into survival mode and he felt more fear than pain, so that was a pleasant change. Dean rolled his eyes at himself, collected his phone and wallet, and forced himself to wolf down a few empanadas that Sam had clearly saved for him, because they were usually the first to go. He couldn’t do manual labor on one burrito in forty-eight hours. 

 

The pastries landed in his stomach like so many shards of glass, but so be it. Dean grabbed a couple Gatorades from the fridge, drinking one on his way down to meet Alex. Yes. He would work until he was so tired he couldn’t stand, exactly as Alex had instructed.

 

***

 

Alex drove Dean down to what looked like a decrepit crack house on the edge of Big Man’s territory. As they parked the beat-up pickup Alex was driving today and stepped inside, Dean realized it was, in fact,  _ exactly _ a decrepit crack house. There was drug paraphernalia still littering the floors, and what looked like human excrement in the corner of one of the downstairs rooms. The walls had been stripped down to studs and the wiring and plumbing were exposed. Alex led Dean up several sets of stairs to the top floor, where  Matías and his crew of half a dozen strong young Latino men Dean did not know were hard at work, white dust masks obscuring their faces, ripping out the remaining stained sheetrock.  

 

A radio sitting on an upside down milkcrate was blasting something loud with a Hip-Hop beat that was definitely not Metallica. Dean immediately regretted not bringing his walkman but it was too late now, and he probably had to listen to instructions anyway. Dean remembered that  Matías was Mrs Rodriguez’ son and thought about removing the dead rat for her with Cas that time, the empanadas after. His stomach twisted around the empanada shards currently inside it and now he  _ really _ wanted his walkman.

 

Alejandro pulled  Matías aside, pointing at Dean and issuing instructions.  Matías nodded, smiled sympathetically at Dean.  Alex nodded, clapped Dean on the back, and told him to text if he needed a ride, left him in  Matías ’ capable hands.  Matías  handed Dean a pair of work gloves and a cheap white dust mask from a box on the floor, directed him where to start without questions or preamble.  Dean gratefully went to work without speaking a word and lost himself in the repetitive tasks and the satisfaction of rending and tearing heavy sheetrock from joists. Dean was not hungry when lunchtime came but he accepted offered water and just kept working. By early afternoon they had completed the tear-out, several hours ahead of the expected time with Dean’s help and the other men on the crew nodded at the new gringo appreciatively.

 

Now the real work - carrying sheetrock up several sets of stairs and lifting it and screwing it to the joists - could begin, and Dean began to understand what Alejandro had meant by too weary to stand. He felt no hunger but by the time the other men were ready to hang it up at six Dean was exhausted. 

 

“You cannot skip el almuerzo, Dean”  Matías scolded him, holding his truck door open to offer Dean a ride home. “Tomorrow you must bring a lunch.” Dean nodded his obedience and crawled into the passenger seat, rode home the several blocks to the Horseshoe without saying a word. He croaked out “Gracias,” as he was deposited at his front door, and realized as he climbed the stairs to his apartment those were the only words he had spoken all day.

 

Dean showered and drank another Gatorade and quite a lot of water and collapsed on the couch. The utter exhaustion in his body made his mind dull, made the pain in his chest more of a numb ache, and he understood what Alejandro had meant. Yes, good, it was working. Dean flipped on the TV and sat in a stupor for an hour. Around seven he thought to text Sam. 

 

_ “need a ride?” _

 

To receive an answering text almost immediately: 

 

_ “Yes pls! right now is good! library!” _

 

Huh. Sam’s ride home must have fallen through or something. Dean felt guilty again but whatever, he was stepping up now. 

 

Dean pulled up to the library at seven thirty, yawning. Sam eagerly folded into the passenger seat, looking at Dean warily, but hopefully. 

 

“I’m okay Sam,” Dean answered his unspoken question. “Alex and Big Man put me to work so I couldn’t hear myself think. Everything hurts and I’m so tired I’m going straight to bed when we get home, but I’ll be okay.”

 

Sam’s face lit up to hear it. “That’s awesome Dean. I was getting worried.” 

 

“I know Sam. Sorry.”

 

“No, you don’t have to apologize, I’m just glad to see you out of bed.”  

 

Sam was earnest, his brow furrowed. Dean resisted the urge to snap at him. 

 

“Getting right back in it when we get home, Sam.”

 

“You know what I mean.”

  
  


***

  
  


When Sam and Dean got home, Sam rooting around in the fridge and Dean accepting a small plate of food at Sam’s insistence, Dean’s plans to go straight to bed without thinking about a goddamn thing were steamrolled by his phone buzzing a text.

 

He grabbed it where it was rattling on the table, and glanced at the screen only to be gutpunched by the number. It was from Cas.

 

_ “Hello Dean. I hope you are feeling better. I tried to send flowers with a get well card but no one will deliver to your address.“ _

 

He stared at his phone in bewilderment, his stomach in knots. Was Castiel not upset with him?

 

His phone buzzed again.

 

_ “No one in this entire establishment can play pool.” _

 

Dean’s stomach lurched. Shit, it must be Thursday. He’d forgotten all about pool night. He was suddenly dizzy with jealousy thinking about Castiel watching other people playing pool instead of him. Dean scowled and dropped his phone and finally noticed Sam staring at him expectantly.

 

“It’s Cas. He’s at the bar. He says he tried to send flowers and a get well card.”

 

Sam’s eyebrows rose. “Did he say anything about…?”

 

Dean shook his head. “Not a thing. Maybe he… maybe he still wants to be friends?”

 

Sam stared at Dean steadily. “Are you gonna answer?”

 

Dean shook his head slowly. “No way. I can’t even look him in the eye, Sam. How am I supposed to just hang out and pretend nothing happened?” He stared at the messages, his face utterly wretched. “I’m not ready to handle being friend zoned yet,” he whispered.

 

Sam nodded understandingly. “You’ll get there. Hang in there.”

 

Dean nodded, his eyes glassy. He pushed his barely touched plate of food away, set his alarm for six-thirty am, and fell into bed still in his tee shirt and jeans, his walkman back on, this time blaring Zeppelin because he was too tired to go get his Metallica cassette out of Baby.

 

***

 

Castiel stared glumly at his phone, but no answering text came, and after a few minutes he sighed and shoved it back in his pocket. His remaining beer was warm, and the chatter of his friends around him did nothing to lift his mood. He missed Dean. There were frat boys bent over the pool table but he had no interest in even glancing in their direction, even though several of them were athletic and good-looking and offering just the sort of visual that he used to enjoy a surreptitious glance at not that long ago. He’d lost the taste, somewhere along the way. Only acres of freckles, green eyes, and one specific smile turned his head anymore.

 

Castiel really had tried to send flowers, wasting several hours over his lunch breaks the last couple days calling florists in San José in a widening circle around Dean’s address, but even the ones that hadn’t laughed at him incredulously or hung up were politely surprised to be asked. Apparently it wasn't just food deliveries to Dean’s neighborhood that were out of the question, and Cas didn't have a fridge cheat sheet at his disposal. He wasn’t sure what the exact protocol for “subtle apology to platonic friend who was sick in the hospital while you fantasized about them” was, but he was sure flowers and a card would have been at least a tiny step in the right direction to easing some of the guilt eating him alive.  

 

Stymied, Castiel chewed on the inside of his own cheeks and agonized, but an uninvited visit was out of the question, and he didn’t know Dean’s post office box number, only his physical address. There was nothing left beyond the uncouth intrusiveness of the text message, which he had finally, after four long days, been unable to resist sending, despite no news from Sam that Dean was well enough yet that his interaction was welcome.

 

After half an hour of trying to listen to the conversation and to be social - this tradition was set long before Dean entered the equation, he scolded himself - Castiel couldn’t bear the worrying anymore and he fished out his phone to text Sam.

 

“ _Hello Sam._ _I’m really sorry to intrude, but I’ve been sick with worry. Please, can you tell me if Dean is doing alright?_ ”

 

He pressed send before he could second guess himself and immediately felt like an asshole for the intrusion, but he was losing sleep worrying about Dean. He needed to hear  _ something _ , anything, even if he had to overstep.

 

Castiel didn’t have long to wait; his phone buzzed in his hand moments later, and his hands were trembling so much as he glanced down at it he had to grip it between his knees to read it.

 

_ “shit, sorry cas. I think he’s over t worst of it. he got out of bed & ate a little today, b I think dean needs more rest b4 feeling up 2 being social :(” _

 

Castiel stared at the message. Dean had been in bed all week, probably with a fever. Castiel’s chest hurt and he had never felt more helpless. He was being specifically told that interacting with him was a social activity; something Dean did not feel up to. Just like the last message from Sam the words hurt more than made logical sense. He just wanted to  _ be _ there, maybe bring Dean soup and sit near him until he felt better. He didn’t have to say anything, he could be quiet. He hadn’t realized he was so much work to be around, and his careful disinvitation to help with any of Dean’s convalescence hurt more than he could understand. 

 

Anna leaned into him, whispered, “Are you okay?,” and he held his phone under the table so she could read it.

 

“Ouch,” she whispered. “Well, at least he’s feeling better, right?”

 

“Why does it hurt so much?” Castiel asked, his voice quavering.

 

“Because you want to take care of him, but Sam is doing it. Because you don’t want to be ‘social,’ Cas, you want to be family.” 

 

“ _ Jesus _ ,” Castiel swore, tears springing to the corners of his eyes. She was right, of course she was exactly right. He fought to shake it off, stood up and grabbed his coat off the back of the chair, waved a wan goodnight to his friends and bolted before his face betrayed him. Anna leapt up to chase him, threw her arms around him, squeezed him tight. “It’ll be okay Cas,” she whispered. “Hang in there.”

 

“I’m trying,” he whispered back, “but this is agony.”

 

“I know,” Anna answered quietly, her eyes wide in sympathy, “I know. I’m so sorry Sweetie.” 

 

Castiel allowed himself to wrap his arms around Anna and really hug her for once, as long as he wanted, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.  When he let her go her eyes were wet and she leaned up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.

 

“I will see you happy someday Castiel Novak, I so swear it,” she vowed solemnly, as though it were in her power to believe it true, and he squeezed her hand, tried to smile, and fled to his car where he could be alone with his anguish.

  
  


***

  
  


Castiel got up early to go grocery shopping before work on Friday, in case Dean was well enough to do dinner. He bought ingredients for a homemade chicken noodle soup recipe and also for an easy taco recipe he pulled up on his phone, several dozen eggs just because, and protein shake ingredients since he was low and right there. He swung back home to shove the bags in his mostly empty fridge and drove to work trying not to get his hopes up but getting his hopes up all the same.

 

By lunchtime he worked up the courage to send Dean a text, agonizing over what to say so as not to sound desperate, and finally keeping it short and simple.

 

“ _ Hello Dean. I really hope you’re feeling better. If you and Sam want to do dinner I can make tacos, or I’d be happy to bring chicken soup to your place. :-)” _

 

He pressed send and agonized for an hour over whether it had delivered, then just went ahead and felt shitty for the rest of the afternoon under the assumption Dean had seen it and either still felt sick, or didn’t feel like dinner, or worse, didn’t want to answer his texts. Not knowing hurt just as much as not getting a reply and Castiel agonized for hours, his afternoon’s concentration shot.

 

When quitting time rolled around Castiel drove himself home in the sourest of moods, stopping on the way for greasy takeout Chinese food and a six pack of decent beer. He waited until he got home to open the first one, drinking it too fast to enjoy it, and ate directly from the aluminum container with the plastic fork from the bag instead of pulling out a plate or silverware. When he was tired of eating he threw the rest of the takeout in the fridge next to the shopping bags that made him feel even worse, and flipped on the TV with the six pack cardboard holder sitting next to him on the couch. He found a Good Eats rerun marathon, drank his increasingly warm beer faster than he should, and ended his night vaguely drunk, lonely, and despondent, not even going upstairs to bed but just collapsing on the couch with the television volume turned down low but still flickering and murmuring so he felt less alone.

  
  


*** 

 

At just past noon when Dean’s phone buzzed a text he had been hanging sheetrock for five hours and had not said a word to anybody all day. He was rooting around in his lunch cooler anyway, pulling out a couple PB&Js and the Gatorade Sam had insisted he bring, so he took a moment to fish out his phone and take a look.  His stomach twisted to see the text from Cas and he stared at it in bafflement. If Cas was going to pretend nothing had happened and act like nothing had changed, maybe there was hope for their friendship after all, but fuuuck he was not ready to face this right now. He was definitely not over Cas yet, not ready to look at the man he wanted more than anything who had rejected him with horror on his face...

 

Dean sighed and shoved the sandwiches back in the cooler, pulled out the Gatorade instead.

 

Matias caught his eye and shook his head gently, pointedly looking at the cooler, and Dean sighed again and pulled the sandwiches back out, choked one down to sit like lead in his sour stomach. He finished his Gatorade to top off the angry slurry in his gut, and sullenly went back to hanging sheetrock instead of sitting for the half hour break the other men were animatedly chatting and smoking through. 

 

Dean zombie-crawled into Matias’ passenger seat at quitting time, staring blankly out the window.

 

As they pulled into the Horseshoe Matias spoke. “Most of  mis hombres están trabajando over the weekend - Manuel wants this one done  muy rápidamente .” Matias offered quietly. “Do you want to come  mañana, Dean?” 

 

Dean nodded si, croaked his thanks, and crawled up to his apartment to shower and collapse on the couch. There was an Alton Brown marathon on. Dean liked his show. Alton made learning fun, even if he made Dad jokes for days, and Dean had tried several ideas from the show and found them to work well. He zoned out in front of the television for a couple hours, not even noticing that he was hungry, until Baby purred up outside and Sam materialized seconds later brandishing a bag of taco bell for Dean.

 

Dean recoiled and Sam glared at him. “WHAT is your damage, Dean, you love this crap!”

 

“I’m sorry Sam,” Dean apologized, sighing and reaching for the bag. “Thank you.”

 

“ _ Well? _ ” 

 

“Cas texted me today and offered to make us tacos at his place, that’s all. You just reminded me.”

 

Sam was suddenly keenly interested, his irritation at Dean’s behavior forgotten. “Did he say anything else? Did you answer?”

 

Dean sighed heavily. “He actually offered to bring me chicken soup if I didn’t feel better yet. He’s acting like nothing happened, Sam.”

 

“Did you answer?”

 

“No.” Dean was sullen, rooting around in the paper bag and pulling out a burrito.

 

Sam’s eyebrows rose. “Do you want to stay friends with him, Dean? That window’s gonna close if you ignore his texts forever.”

 

“I know. I do. I’m… I’m just not ready.”

 

Sam’s face was empathetic as always, but with a hint of an argument written across it. 

 

“I get it, Dean. But - “

“ _ Shut up _ ,” Dean snapped. “I’m working up to it.”

 

“Okay, okay, sorry,” Sam apologized. Sam’s shoulders fell and Dean shoved his half-eaten burrito back in the bag and blew out a breath.

 

“I’m sorry Sammy. I know he’s your friend too, and I’m being a grade A dick to you and I can’t seem to help it. I really am working up to it, I promise. I don’t even know what I’ll say but I’ll figure it out soon, okay?” He looked up at Sam, his face pleading forgiveness, and Sam shrugged, leaning over to take the bag from Dean’s limp fingers and head towards the fridge.

 

“Yeah okay,” Sam nodded. “Just… don’t wait too long, Dean.”

 

“I’ll do my best,” Dean retorted, slightly grumpily.  “I’m gonna hit the hay. I’m working for Matias again tomorrow. You can take Baby.”

 

Sam looked surprised to hear it but Dean didn’t notice, he was setting his phone alarm and strapping on his walkman to drown out any thoughts his exhausted brain might try to gnaw on, collapsing into bed, his arm over his face.

 

Sam sprawled on the couch with a textbook and the last of the Alton Brown marathon turned down low. He watched Dean’s breathing even out, watched his face smooth into sleep, and made a decision. Screw it, he was already in it from the last time. He fished his phone out of his pocket and composed a text to Cas.

 

“ _ hey cas, sorry we missed ur invite. dean forgot 2 charge his phone til now. he’s still feeling pretty shitty, pls give us a few more days. sorry _ ”

 

Sam pressed send and felt an interesting mixture of guilt and relief. Well, there was no undoing a text message, so what was done was done. He went back to poring over his textbook, half-listening to Alton wax poetic about cayenne pepper. The dude put that shit in everything.

  
  


***

  
  


Castiel startled out of a restless doze when his phone buzzed on the coffee table. His back was sore from how he had slumped into his couch, and his head felt fuzzy and painful. He needed water, badly. It couldn’t even be midnight yet; Good Eats was still rolling. Cas fumbled for his phone as it traveled across the table, his heart pounding, and read the text from Sam. Sam’s words lifted the heavy weight of not knowing from his heart, made his eyes sting with relief, and only then did he realize exactly how shitty he had felt before.  _ Christ _ , he wished he could reel himself in, but he was too far gone.

 

Castiel stood up, popped his back, and headed to the kitchen to down a couple glasses of water, before heading upstairs to brush his teeth and go to bed. The Chinese food and beer sat heavy and brooding in his stomach, and he promised himself he’d go for a good run tomorrow, find a way to get in some self-care without thinking about Dean. Mollified, his brain let him off the hook and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  
  


***

 

Dean spent his weekend taping and mudding sheetrock joints until every muscle in his body was screaming and he could barely stand. There wasn’t a man on the crew who had batted an eye at Matias’ explanation that Dean had lost a friend. Death came early and often for men in difficult circumstances; grief a frequent companion in a neighborhood at war. The men Dean did not know were gruff but warily kind to Manuel’s pet gringo, and by Sunday the gringo had won the grudging respect of every last man on the crew on his own merit, had even smiled at a couple of their ready jokes and said a few words himself. Dean’s Spanish was steadily improving by immersion in the Horseshoe, and when he managed to make a couple wisecracks he earned huge white smiles and a couple laughs and his spirits lifted by small degrees until he didn’t feel like getting blackout drunk when he got home Sunday night. 

 

Dean barely made the call-in time to order a pizza from the cheat sheet on the fridge to arrive at about the same time he expected Sam; half Meat-Lovers and half Vegetable Supreme and two cokes. He only got away with making a special order because he begged, “Es para Blanquito por favor, está loco,” and got an honest-to-god giggle out of the contact, a man he had not met yet, but apparently everyone in the neighborhood was familiar with Manuel’s pets. Dean offered, “Muchas gracias, seriously,” got a “De nada, Gringo Muy Guapo!” and hung up, sighing. Well, being famous apparently had some perks. He showered as hot as he could stand the water, pulled on clean clothes from the supply Sammy kept making sure of, and waited to see which would arrive first.

 

Dean heard Baby purr up outside and figured Sam had beaten the pizza, but he was startled when José burst through the door first, hefting a pizza box in both hands and a plastic shopping bag with a couple cokes slung over his shoulder. José dropped the pizza on the table, dropped the grocery bag on the floor, and ran across the room to where Dean was sitting on the couch to throw skinny arms around his neck without further preamble, his face hidden in Dean’s shoulder. Sam strolled in to find Dean wrapping surprised arms around José, squeezing him tight. “I’m okay kid,” he said gruffly, his voice thick. He looked to Sam for help, his eyes glassy, but Sam shrugged helplessly, his eyes suddenly very shiny as well.

 

José disengaged, wiping his eyes and steeling his face to be manly before looking at Dean, and Dean did the same, because they were men. 

 

“I’m sorry I worried you José,” Dean apologized, looking the boy in the eye since he was seated and his face was level with Dean’s.

 

“I wasn’t worried,” José denied, straightening his shoulders. “But Mam á was very worried.”

 

Dean’s face fell. “I’m so sorry I worried your Mamá,“ he apologized, an acceptably manly enough compromise that José was able to nod and accept the sentiment. “I was very sad, Jos é . I drank too much and made myself very sick.”

 

Jos é nodded. “ Mamá is very sad sometimes when she misses  Papá. She said  su corazón debe estar roto - your heart must be broken. How can a heart be broken, Dean, wouldn’t you be dead?”

 

Sam looked worried as hell, but Dean smiled gently at José. “Your Mamá is very smart José. A heart can break without killing you, but it sure hurts so much you  _ feel _ like you’re dying.”  He nodded sagely. “You’ll understand someday. When your  Papá gets home you will be old enough to understand, and he will explain it to you, si?”

 

“Si!” José agreed enthusiastically. “Oh mierda! I think I shook your cokes when I dropped them.”

 

“That’s okay. What’s the damage?” Dean pulled double what José asked for out of his wallet and handed it over without commentary. “Tell your  Mamá thank you for the food. That money is not for the food she made us, do you understand? That is just the pizza tip.”

 

José nodded dismissively. You did not pay people for taking care of you when you were sick, everyone knew that. He smiled up at Sam on his way out, and Sam, who had not spoken a word during the interchange, nevertheless made himself understood with a look and a squeeze of José’s shoulder, and José nodded up at him, compatriots in the worrying they had certainly not been doing.

 

Dean stood up and waved at the rapidly cooling pizza. “Tried to surprise you…” He was startled to suddenly be wrapped in a much larger, much tighter hug. For the second time today his arms came up to comfort the one he had worried, and when they broke apart he didn’t even pretend to be gruff. 

 

“I’m sorry Sam -” Dean began quietly, but Sam was waving his hand, wiping his eyes on the back of his other hand, turning to the pizza box to see what Dean had wrought. Sam was utterly delighted to find half of it Veggie Supreme and they opened their cokes over the sink and ate on the couch, sharing the box between them, sipping what hadn’t foamed out of their cokes, and idly watching the last of the game heading into overtime.

 

After half the pizza was devoured, Sam managing two-for-one on Dean’s appetite, Sam leapt up to retrieve a pair of celebratory beers he’d been hiding in the crisper behind his personal bag of salad, opened both, and handed one to Dean. Dean smiled like the sun to be declared beer-ready, and they clinked the necks together and finished their pizza in companionable silence, brothers in arms.

  
  


***

 

Castiel spent his weekend pointedly not thinking about Dean with such extraordinary concentration that of course he thought of nothing else the entire time. He went for a long run each morning, did his workbook and Counter-Strike homework, watered his garden, ordered Thai delivered, and avoided thinking about how his skin was crawling and he was jumpy and increasingly irritable until late Sunday evening when he remembered he had just the thing. He rooted around in a bedroom drawer until he found what he was looking for - a vibrating sex toy he had given high marks for its considerable heft and size, but very low marks for every setting of vibration, which he had found to cause immediate ejaculation with or without concomitant arousal; a most unsatisfactory outcome as far as he had been concerned.  He’d used it maybe a half-dozen times since that first time several years ago - as he recalled he’d kept it because it was  _ very _ nice when turned off - but there was no need to pay extra for a motor and remote for something so unsatisfying to turn on.

 

Castiel pulled out a men's fitness magazine from the stack he hadn’t looked at in months, found fresh batteries and a condom large enough to fit, lubed it up, and worked the plug grumpily up his ass. He had to pause several times to give his body time to adjust, hissing at the sharp pain his irritated haste cost him. Castiel had no wish to actually injure himself, annoyed or not, but he  _ did _ want to get this over with before his mind could wander.  By the time he was fully seated on the thing his body had responded with a half-hearted erection, and he sighed heavily. Naturally, that was about the shape of it. He opened the magazine, stroking his cock idly as he flipped through the muscular men in various poses and positions, but they did nothing for him - if anything he lost interest. He blew out a frustrated breath; flipped the switch on the remote to “low.”

 

Within a few seconds he was ejaculating onto his stomach, the almost painful orgasm taking him by surprise; zero heights reached. He’d forgotten how eminently unsatisfying the vibration was, ugh. Well, at least he hadn’t thought about Dean… Castiel’s mind helpfully supplied green eyes looking up at him through thick eyelashes; parted lips, stained red with wine. That finally shivered a frisson of arousal through his spent cock, and he cursed and lifted his ass off the towel to let his body reject the toy, despondently naming the self-care a qualified success. 

 

Castiel padded to the bathroom to shower and brush his teeth and to sanitize the equipment. Next time maybe he could play some loud music or something so his mind couldn’t possibly wander. He collapsed into bed with his body slightly less pent and fell asleep immediately to dream a memory, a memory that twisted and changed as his mind conjured it from long-forgotten depths.

 

In his dream the man became Dean, the car Baby. Powerful arms were bending him over in the back seat, the sound of a zipper, a foil wrapper tearing, a hand on the back of Castiel’s neck, crushing Castiel’s face into the leather of her seat. He could smell sweat and leather and taste blood where his teeth had bitten his lip, but his body wasn’t young and slight, it was thick and strong. The man behind him wasn’t a good-looking stranger from in front of some bar he was too young to get into, it was Dean, his brow beading sweat, his cock thick and insistent and pushing in too fast, too fast, just like he remembered. Castiel’s eyes welled with tears just as they had done all those years ago, but in his dream he was glad; he wept with relief to feel the sting. Instead of yelping “slow down" to hear a groan and a muttered apology, he moaned in response and pushed into the pain, his suffering a sacrament, the burn searing an echoing burn in his chest and in his cock, erect this time as Dean reached around him roughly to stroke it.

 

Castiel woke in the dark of the night with a shout to find himself cresting into his sheets, his ass clenching empty, tears streaming down his face, and he clutched his pillow and sobbed, bereft of a thick, insistent cock and the man he loved wielding it; the testament of his pain a hollow ache, no one at all kneeling behind him to receive it.

 

 

 


	56. With a Little Help From My Friends

On Monday morning, Dean woke up at the crack of dawn to drive Sam to school so he could make it back in time to catch a ride in to work with Matias. He hadn’t been able to pick up his paycheck last Friday and they were definitely out of parking-on-campus money. He wished he’d put it together they were going to be short a week’s pay before he’d bought the pizza on Sunday, but what was done was done. Broke or not, Dean was actually feeling kind of chipper on the ride in, his early coffee kicking in, and Matias grinned at him to hear him humming along to the radio. 

 

“Ti sientes mejor?” Matias asked kindly, and Dean nodded slowly. 

 

“Si, un poco. Gracias,” he answered absently, without noticing the language change, and Matias smiled quietly to himself to hear it. 

 

“Bueno,” he nodded back.

 

When they got to the site they were early, arriving before the crew, and Dean and Matias entered the building to find a couple teenagers that apparently hadn’t gotten the memo about the building changing hands. The teens startled awake from where they were curled up on the floor in a corner of one of the downstairs rooms as Dean and Matias entered the building. They were young, the boy - who strongly reminded Dean of José with his bouncing dark curls and brown skin - couldn’t be eighteen yet and the beautiful dark haired girl huddled terrified in his arms several years younger. She had bruises on her face, a split lip and a black eye, and Dean’s hands curled into fists as Matias towered over the boy with his fist raised, hissed, “ _ Hisiste esto?” _ pointing at the girl’s face.

 

The girl threw her small body protectively in front of the boy as he cowered, speechless with terror, crying out,  “¡No! Mi padre, Mi padre!” Now that she had moved it was obvious she was pregnant, maybe four or five months along.   Dean hadn’t even thought to ask who had hit her, and he was impressed with Matias’ restraint, ashamed he might have beaten the boy senseless before asking.

 

Matias sighed, and his fist dropped to his side, uncurled.  “ ¿Tienes familia en la que confíes?” he asked. They shook their heads in unison and he sighed again. “These kids have nowhere to go,” he explained to Dean quietly. “You can see why.”  Dean nodded, his heart heavy. 

 

Some of Matias’ crew were filtering in by now, smoking and watching the drama unfold quietly.  “Nada de drogas, lo prometo,” he sternly warned the pair, “y nosotros te cuidaremos.” They nodded their terrified agreement to do whatever they were told, and Matias sighed.  

 

“Dean, I have to get my crew started. Can you take these two to mi madre  en mi camión , let Manuel know, and then come back here after?”

 

“Sure,” Dean answered, startled, as Matias handed him his keys. Dean dropped his lunch cooler and waited as Matias instructed the kids. 

 

“Acompañar Gringo Muy - “ Matias began, but he cleared his throat and corrected himself, to Dean’s quiet gratitude - “acompañar Dean. él te llevará con mi madre.” The children nodded and followed Dean, mute, as he led the way to the truck, opened the passenger door for them, offered to help but lifted his hands and stepped back as both children shied away from him in terror.

 

Dean found himself driving two terrified teenagers back to the Horseshoe, the boy taking the center and leaning as far away from him as possible without crushing his girlfriend, shielding her from Dean with his body. Dean sighed and searched for the words, offered finally, “Um, son buenas uh, personos.”  

 

Dean struggled to find the rest of the words as the teens stared at him, and he muttered finally, shrugging his shoulders, “You’re gonna be safe. Both of you, and the baby too. They’ll take good care of you here.” He dared to glance over and while the boy stared blankly at him the girl’s eyes were wide and glistening with tears.  Alright, one of them spoke English anyway. Dean sighed.  

 

“Mi nombre es Dean,” he said, “but everyone calls me - uh, todo el mundo me llama ‘Gringo Muy Guapo.’”

 

That got a tiny snort and a hand over her mouth, an honest-to-god smile from the boy. Dean smiled, satisfied, and was utterly charmed to hear a small voice say, “Mi nombre es Mary. Este es Juan.” He whispered “My Mom’s name was Mary,” but he no longer trusted his face to look over at the pair until he had swallowed down the emotion and by then they were turning into the Horseshoe. 

 

Dean knocked on Mrs  Rodrìguez ’ door and delivered her the children, whom she immediately clucked over and hugged and made sit down and handed plates of food to their dazed delight, before hugging Dean and fussing over him as well, poking his lean abdomen with a disapproving cluck of, “ Tu debes comer! ” wh ile he protested he was fine, forcing him to take a paper bag of food to go. He made sure the kids looked okay before waving and leaving them with Mrs  Rodrìguez to make his way down to Big Man’s door, unable to resist stuffing an empanada in his face on the way over.

 

Manuel was leaning outside his door, surveying his domain when Dean walked over, and his eyes lit up to see Dean. 

 

“Como estas mi amigo?” he asked cheerfully and Dean shrugged and did a quick self-assessment. 

 

“Un poco mejor” Dean admitted truthfully. 

 

Somewhere in between this morning’s stark reminder that life was really fucking hard and the texts straggling in from Cas that seemed like they were still going to be able to be friends, his grief was starting to abate. He explained to Manuel that they had found a pair of kids, the girl pregnant and beat up by her father, the boy terrified but protective of her. He sighed, describing how he had been ready to kill the boy without even asking who had hit her and Manuel nodded. 

 

“It’s never easy to see, Dean, l o sé . Next time you’ll ask, si?”  Dean nodded, and Manuel clapped him on the back. “We will keep them safe Dean, no te preocupes,” he promised, adding in a quieter voice, “I am glad to see you feeling better Dean. You can quit working now if you need to rest, I know you worked all weekend and Matias says you have done the work of two hombres.”

 

Dean smiled, bashfully pleased to hear such high praise. “That’s okay,” he said, “I’ll work until Friday... if that’s alright?” he studied Manuel’s face, looking for permission.

 

“Of course Dean,” Manuel allowed, “I am not going to say no if you want to keep working, but just to be clear,  no importa lo duro que trabajes, I am only paying you the wages of one hombre.” He winked at Dean’s surprised face. “Of course you will be paid Dean. I am a man of honor. Now fuera de aqui - get out of here with this bag of empanadas,” he said, his voice waxing wistful and soft, “I have to go meet mis nuevos hijos.”

 

Dean’s eyes glistened and he turned to hide his face, simultaneously opening the paper bag to hold it out for Manuel to take whatever he wished. Manuel groaned and took a solitary empanada, and when Dean accidentally caught his glance his eyes shone very bright. They shared a moment of understanding, Dean’s gratitude in his rueful smile, Manuel’s affection in his answering nod, and then they parted ways to shoulder their respective responsibilities, Dean popping back up to his apartment first to save the empanadas in the fridge for Sam.

  
  


***

  
  


On Monday morning, Castiel went to work with bags under his eyes. In Dean’s absence no sales had come in the previous week so there was no data entry available - all his work required him to be capable and intelligent. He poured himself another cup of coffee and glared balefully at his computer screen until the caffeine did its work and the code started to make sense. Dean’s empty office felt oppressive, a weight that sucked all possible contentment from his day. By lunchtime he dared to send Dean another text.

 

“ _ Hello Dean. Happy Monday from the trenches. I hope you are feeling better & that you are able to enjoy your remaining time off.  :-)  _ ”

 

Castiel spent the rest of his day after sending the text picking away at his to-do list of feature updates and vaguely worrying when no response arrived. He worried through work, was distracted by worry during his group counseling meeting, worried the whole drive home. He wished there was a way to tell if his message had gone through. Sometimes they didn’t even make it and he had no way of knowing whether Dean had even received it. 

  
  


***

  
  


At lunchtime Dean was just polishing off his single PB&J - he’d sent three with Sam,  _ goddamn _ they needed that paycheck - and wishing he’d brought one of the empanadas or something, when his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he fished it out to open the message. Seeing Castiel’s number effectively killed his appetite, so that was a blessing anyway, and he studied the message carefully. 

 

Dean shook his head and snorted at the idea he’d be enjoying his week of vacation. Cas really seemed entirely clueless. Either he was being a massive dick, which  _ really _ didn’t seem like the Cas Dean had come to know, or he just didn’t understand how bad it had hurt to be rejected. If it was the latter - and Dean couldn’t, he just  _ couldn’t _ think Cas would be a dick to him on purpose -  it could only mean he really truly didn’t feel the same about Dean at all. Maybe it was no big deal for a gay dude to turn down a friend’s advance, maybe Cas had to do that all the time and it didn’t mean anything to him. 

 

_ Fuuuuck _ , it had meant  _ everything _ to Dean, and his chipper mood evaporated as he pulled his goggles and respirator back over the red lines they’d already worn into his face and went back to sanding sheetrock joints. 

 

***

 

After work when Dean pulled up outside the library and Sam folded into the Impala, Dean’s mood was a mixed bag, glum about Cas, but as he told Sam about finding the kids that morning and that Manuel was going to pay him for the work, Sam was so excited to hear they might get real food soon that Dean could barely keep from spilling the beans about the paper bag in the fridge. When he refused to say what he was smiling about Sam playfully pestered him all the way home until they slammed through their front door and Dean triumphantly presented Sam with the greasy paper bag of empanadas from the fridge.

 

Sam was delighted. For once he listened to Dean’s admonition to make them last because they seriously didn’t know when he’d get paid next, but he had his own triumph to present: an entire loaf of bread he’d snagged from the meal hall Sarah had treated him to today. Dean was both pleased and worried, and Sam watched his face and grinned. 

 

“Don’t worry Dean, no one saw me, not even Sarah. I popped it under my jacket at the sandwich station while she was getting coffee. I would’ve grabbed lunch meat too if I had a way to keep it cold, there’s just  _ piles _ of it.” 

 

Dean sighed and admitted wistfully, ”I am soooo sick of peanut butter Sam you don’t even know.”  

 

Sam slapped his knee as he remembered something else and he unzipped his backpack to pull out a wad of napkins several paperbacks thick. He unwrapped them to present Dean with a stack of slightly worse-for-wear american cheese that had to be at least five inches thick. 

 

“As many as I could grab with one hand and get in my pocket in one move,” Sam explained. “I wrapped them later, so pick off the lint.”

 

Dean’s face lit up for real and he grabbed the stack gratefully. 

 

“Fuck yeah Sammy, I’m making us grilled cheeses right now.” 

 

Sam’s eyes lit up and he shoved the rest of the empanadas back in the bag. “I’ll save these for lunch tomorrow, then.”

 

Dean had crisp buttery grilled cheeses plated within ten minutes, and when he sank onto the couch and wistfully bemoaned their lack of beer money, Sam leapt up with delight to pull their ancient coleman cooler out of his side of the closet, set it in front of Dean, and stand back for Dean to open the present. Dean flipped her open to discover a six pack of el Sol, kept on ice that was still fresh. He pulled two out, shut the lid gently, handed them to Sam to open. 

  
“I thought I confiscated all your fake ID’s Sam,” Dean scolded weakly, too pleased to fight. “You were gonna go straight for school!”

 

Sam grinned. “Alejandro brought those by on Sunday when you were at work. For when you were ready.”

 

Dean was touched by the teamwork subterfuge, accepted his opened beer from Sam, and reached over to clink bottles with his brother before taking a small sip. 

 

“Well that’ll hold us on beer rations ‘til Wednesday,” he sighed happily.  “I sure hope Manuel pays soon.” That last was unintelligible, his mouth full of crispy grilled cheese goodness, but Sam understood him perfectly. 

 

“Yeah, me too, but I wouldn’t have dared to ask when either.”

 

“Right???”

 

They grinned at each other and fell to polishing off their pilfered feast, sipping their beers daintily to make them last, and if they licked their plates there was no one there to say a damn word about it.

  
  


*** 

  
  


Dean had been gently snoring for an hour when Sam’s phone vibrated on the coffee table, and he picked it up to read a text from Cas.

 

“ _ Sam, I am so sorry to intrude, I just can’t seem to stop worrying. I don’t know if Dean is getting my messages. Is he feeling better? Again, I do apologize. _ ”

 

Aww shit, he’d forgotten to ask Dean today, he truthfully did not know if Dean had missed a text, but he’d lay like ninety ten odds that Dean had probably received it and ignored it. He stared at the text and just… felt bad. Poor Cas, he was so worried. Maybe everything hadn’t gone down exactly like Dean thought; Cas seemed so worried and clueless.  Sam dithered over what to say - not answering was just not an option - and he finally settled on at least a half-truth.

 

“ _ so sorry cas! dean is sleeping. dunno if he got ur msg, he didnt say. his body is on the mend but hes been in a super shitty mood for days :-( _ ”

 

Sam just didn’t know what else to do without getting himself in really deep shit. He was already crossing a line with the texts, and this half-truth was a whole step over that line. He worried for a couple minutes and then sent a followup.

 

“ _ pls don’t tell him I said anything cas, i don’t wanna get in trouble. miss u :-) _ ”

 

Sam went back to studying with his phone balanced on his thigh until an answer came in, glanced at it and heaved a sigh of relief. 

 

“ _ Thank you Sam, I guess I’ll keep trying. I won’t tattle, you have my word. Miss you too. :-)” _

 

Welp, there wasn’t a lot more he could do to cover for Dean at this point. If he didn’t answer Cas soon, Cas was going to be really hurt. And then they were going to lose a friend. Cas would never do anything to hurt them or betray their con, Sam was certain of it, but the friendship that had been blossoming between them and Cas would be damaged, possibly irrevocably. Sam shook his head in frustration. His loyalty lay with Dean, always. But… if Dean was wrong and fucked this up for both of them over a misunderstanding, it was really going to suck. He was really going to miss Cas. Sam sighed, deleted the messages just in case Dean got nosy, and flipped to the next page in his textbook.

 

***

 

Castiel spent his evening at the gym, working out until he was exhausted without casting a single surreptitious glance at anyone. He wasn’t even tempted. He showered without caring if anyone wanted to look at him - usually he’d at least enjoy the glances, but he couldn’t work up the energy to care anymore. He went home to experiment with his vibrator to see if he could find a less disappointing outcome, and he found that if he pulsed it on low for a second at a time and stroked himself between pulses, he could get a more acceptable result. Not what he’d call a glow of satisfaction by any means, but at least a slightly less jarring orgasm. Flipping it on interrupted any cogent thought in any case - his mind could not wander with a jackhammer circumventing his hindbrain - and he was able to take care of himself without thinking about Dean.

 

Naturally, working so hard not to think about Dean made him think of nothing else once he was done, working himself into such a state of anxiety he was unable to keep himself from padding down to the kitchen where his reception was decent to text Sam. College kids stayed up late all the time, surely Sam wasn’t asleep yet. Castiel toyed with the belt of his robe and worried while he waited for a response, but he barely had time to imagine he would wake Sam or that Dean would see he had texted Sam asking about him and be angry about it before Sam’s answer came. He stared at it in consternation, studying it, reading it over and over for any possible nuance.

 

“ _ so sorry cas! dean is sleeping. dunno if he got ur msg, he didnt say. his body is on the mend but hes been in a super shitty mood for days :-( _ ”

 

Why was Dean in a foul mood? Was it something Castiel had said or done? Was there something he needed to do, or to stop doing? His spiral was interrupted by another text from Sam, and he read that one a dozen times too.

 

“ _ pls don’t tell him I said anything cas, i don’t wanna get in trouble. miss u :-) _ ”

 

Sam was worried about  _ getting in trouble _ . Sam was passing him notes behind Dean’s back, because he had begged. He felt like a complete asshole; sent Sam his promise not to say a word, and his very real sentiment. He did miss Sam, very much. 

 

Castiel plodded wearily back upstairs, wincing at each step. Okay he  _ might  _ have overdone the squats. He brushed his teeth, took half of one of the pills he hated, and collapsed into bed to wait for his brain to shut the hell up. After an hour he took the other half, and finally fell into a fitful sleep, to dream of being late to an exam he could not find, for a class he had not known he was enrolled in.

 

***

 

On Tuesday, Dean learned how to plumb a bathroom. He knew how to solder electrical wires but he’d never run copper piping before and it was complicated and satisfying work. He asked Matias after the children, who reportedly had seen a nurse on Manuel’s payroll and were doing very well. Dean was quietly impressed at Manuel’s reach and pleased to hear the kids were doing alright. He ate his cold grilled cheese sandwich cheerfully because it wasn’t peanut butter, and when the lunchtime text from Cas came in, it did not entirely ruin his appetite this time.

 

“ _ Hello Dean. The new kid at the shop put pickles on my sandwich today. I hope your lunch is better than mine. :-) _ ”

 

Dean’s mind offered a memory at the reminder: Cas hadn’t eaten the pickle beside the first sandwich Dean had ever made him. Dean had eaten it when Cas wasn’t looking. He sighed and could not think of a single thing to say to the man who would blithely break his heart and act like nothing had happened. Sam was right, he was going to miss the window on this if he didn’t answer soon; Cas was going to be hurt, maybe angry.  Dean thought about that for a bit, and while he was quietly ashamed to feel it, a small part of him felt pleased to imagine Cas was going to be hurt. Good. Dean had offered his fucking heart to Cas on a silver platter and he hadn’t made the cut for whatever Cas was into. Cas hadn’t been able to hide his disgust. Dean wondered bitterly if he’d even tried. All of that hurt like a motherfucker and Cas didn’t even think it was worth a mention. He could stew a few more days before Dean would try to patch anything over.

 

Dean’s stomach twisted around his cold cheese, the spite sour and uncomfortable. His anger felt justified, his foul mood completely reasonable given the circumstances, but his heart screamed that the Cas he knew wouldn’t hurt him on purpose and that he should answer the text. That he didn’t want to lose Cas forever. Conflicted, he worked the rest of the day unable to think about anything but Cas, every moment they had shared, every laugh, every smile he had managed to pull out of Cas by whatever devilry he could manage, and by the end of the day Castiel’s absence ached; an oppressive dull grief. Dean was no longer angry, only sad.  He rode home with Matias in silence, and when they pulled into the Horseshoe Matias touched his shoulder.

 

“Dean. I know you are struggling with your loss, and I cannot help you with that. But compra carne y cerveza - buy some meat and some beer, gas up your Baby, that at least I can help you with.” He reached toward Dean holding a couple crumpled twenties. Dean tried to protest, but Matias pressed the money into his hand. “Pay me back este Viernes Dean. Manuel pays at the end of the week. It will be Friday. You cannot work so hard on your sandwiches of crema de cacahuate and el queso. Estás perdiendo peso - you are losing weight.”  

 

Dean was startled, looking down at himself. Was he? He hadn’t been paying attention. He accepted the bills gratefully, with shame on his face. Friday was too long; this lean stretch was entirely on him and Sam couldn’t wait until Friday. 

 

“Gracias,” he whispered, but Matias shook his head. 

 

“De nada. Eres de la familia. Now get out of here.” He grinned at Dean, and Dean grinned back, escaping from the cab of the truck before Matias could see the tears in his eyes. 

 

Dean was showered and pulling Baby out of her parking spot in record time, popping over to the new Lucky Seven Supermarket everyone shopped at. He leaned heavily on his broke-times-with-Dad education, avoiding brand names and looking for sales, and most importantly giving both beans and rice a wide berth; _not again, not in *this* lifetime, goddammit._

 

Dean managed to score five pounds of chicken breasts, a value-pack of sausage, and dated-today sale ground beef for under ten bucks; a twelve pack of unfamiliar Spanish-labeled beer in cans for under three dollars. He did some quick math, added a bag of potatoes, a couple dozen eggs, the cheapest canned tomato sauce he could find, and three-for-a-dollar store brand spaghetti. Dean chose store brand hamburger buns but brand name ketchup - seeing as how his had mysteriously gone missing and Dad always insisted you were  _ never _ too broke for good ketchup - and he still had just enough to circle back to produce and grab a giant Vidalia onion for his sauce, a bunch of bananas and a half dozen apples to surprise Sam. 

 

That left twenty bucks for Baby, which should get her almost a full tank. She knocked back about five bucks worth of gas per round trip to Stanford, Dean mused,  _ shit _ , they still weren’t going to make it. Not twice a day anyway. Sam was going to have to drive her in, find street parking a couple blocks out, and hoof it to campus the rest of the week, at least until Dean got paid.

 

Dean checked out with a mixture of gratitude, guilt, and giddiness about getting to surprise Sam warring for dominance over his mood. He gave the gorgeous checkout girl one of his more charming smiles and she smiled back, asked after Blanquito. Dean’s eyebrows rose in alarm for a microsecond -  he’d never seen her before in his life - but he covered smoothly, answered graciously. 

 

“ Mi hermanito está bien, gracias,” he said, and he wished her well as he grabbed his bags to go. Jesus, he’d better watch who he flirted with or he was going to get himself in serious trouble with someone large, or violent, or both. He stuffed his purchases into the car with wide eyes, shaking his head, then rushed to gas up Baby and get home to do what cooking he could before it was time to go collect Sam.

 

Dean browned up half of the beef with most of the onion on their one working burner, dumped the cans of tomato sauce in, swishing water around in them and adding that, too to get every bit into the pot before covering it to simmer and tossing the cans in the recycling. He toasted one of the hamburger buns and crumbled it on a plate, added garlic powder and a little shake cheese from the can in the fridge, beat a couple eggs on a second plate with a fork. 

 

Dean cut the chicken breasts into thin strips, dunked them in a beaten egg and then the crumb plate, fried those hard on the electric griddle. By the time he was done cooking up the chicken, the sauce was starting to smell really good, and he couldn’t help but test a couple chicken strips to make sure they were coming out alright. They were. They needed salt though, and he sprinkled some on the finished plates piled high with chicken before shoving them into the fridge and wiping down the griddle and the egg and crumb plates.  

 

It was getting to be about time to go get Sam and Dean dithered for a minute, but decided to err on the side of caution and turned the burner off. The piece-of-shit stove could not be trusted; no sense in burning the place down. The sauce would hold its heat and it could cook more when he got back.

 

Dean drove to pick Sam up with his mood firmly in the giddy category, excited to get to surprise him, but the pig was out of the poke the moment Sam opened the passenger door. 

 

“Oh My God,” Sam moaned, “what have you been cooking?” 

 

Dean lifted his arm to his face to sniff his own sleeve, scowling. “I wanted to surprise you!” he lamented.

 

“Color me surprised,” Sam answered, leaning over to sniff Dean’s arm too. “I thought we were flat broke!”

 

“We are,” Dean confirmed, “but Matias slipped me a loan until payday.”  Sam looked up in surprise at Dean’s face, shock that he would accept plain as day, but Dean elaborated. “He wouldn’t take no for an answer Sam, he said we don’t get paid until Friday.” 

 

“Oh, Shit,” Sam exclaimed.

 

“Yeah. We couldn’t make it. I’m so sorry Sam.” Dean’s face was a study in shame, and he met Sam’s eyes with his shoulders slumped.

 

“No, Dean.” Sam’s eyes were bright, and he reached out to put his hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeeze gently. “You take care of everyone else  _ all the time _ . It’s okay to let them help you back sometimes. Plus, you’re paying him back, it’s not like it’s charity or something. Make him a pie when you pay him back and you’ll be paid up.”

 

Dean stared at Sam, a parade of emotion playing across his face, and Sam sighed. “Okay not a pie then. Have you texted Cas back yet?”

 

Dean shook his head, pulled Baby away from the curb and into traffic so he didn’t have to answer for a minute, thinking. “I will. He texted me at lunch again today and at first I was just…  _ so angry _ , I wanted him to stew, wanted to tell him to fuck off, y’know?”

 

Sam was frowning, ready to interject, but Dean cut him off with a wave of his hand.

 

“But… but then I just thought about him all day, how much Thanksgiving meant to him, how hard he worked to give me a happy birthday, every time I‘ve ever tricked him into smiling, and dunno, I just… I miss him Sam, I just miss him. I don’t know what to say. ‘Sorry I tried to fuck you and you were grossed out, can we hang out again?’” Dean sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes, glaring at the road.  

 

Sam rolled his eyes, exasperated. “Obviously not, Dean. Something like ‘Oh hey I feel better, let’s hang out’ would probably work.”

 

“I feel like shit, Sam.”

 

“Better from your fake flu, Dean.”

 

“RIGHT.”

 

They rode in silence for a few minutes, lost in their own thoughts until Sam remembered something important. 

 

“What did you COOK, Dean???”

 

Dean grinned, delighted, and relented. “I have spaghetti sauce in the works for tomorrow, chicken strips ready for lunches, and I have to cook all the beef today so we’re having cheeseburgers tonight. With homefries, if you can wait an extra twenty minutes on top of cheeseburger time.”

 

“I can, I CAN,” Sam breathed, and Dean turned into the Horseshoe with satisfaction curling around his heart. 

 

“You got it, Sammy. You can have a couple chicken strips and a beer for an appetizer while I cut up the potatoes; I already tested the chicken but I haven’t tried the beer. We can find out how bad it is together.”

 

“AND BEER?” Sam’s smile lit up Baby brighter than her cabin light, and eased the tightness in Dean’s chest just a little.  _ Enough _ .  _ It would have to be enough _ .

 

“And beer,” he answered firmly, and they headed inside to see about their feast.

  
  


***

  
  


On Tuesday, Castiel woke up tired, sore, and grumpy. He dragged his sore ass in to work, poured himself a cup of coffee, and then poured himself into feature updates, ignoring everything and everyone around him completely. At lunchtime he trudged next door to get a sandwich, wincing at every step, shook his head sullenly at offers of companionship, and headed back to his cubicle, only to discover pickles in his sandwich. He spit out the bite in his mouth, threw out the top piece of bread still stuck to the foul abominations and the top layer of turkey that had touched the offending devil chips, and angrily ate the rest as best he could, holding it like a piece of toast and scowling the entire time. 

 

Castiel dared to text Dean again, but he reasoned that if Dean’s mood was anything close to as shitty as his, he’d be surprised to hear anything back. Still, he couldn’t keep himself from trying. Dean’s silence was an itch under his skin that could not be scratched, a thirst he could not slake, and he bitterly wished there was a CTRL-Z for life, wished that he could have avoided succumbing to whatever weakness had compelled him to become so dependent on another human’s capricious whim for his own happiness. He struggled to compose a text that was neither desperate nor angry, and added a smiley face he did not feel.

 

“ _ Hello Dean. The new kid at the shop put pickles on my sandwich today. I hope your lunch is better than mine. :-) _ ”

 

There. His traitorous brains could not nag him about not having given it an effort. He threw out his sandwich wrapper and the chips too, crushing them in the unopened bag until the bag popped with a satisfying snap just to break something. He turned off his phone so he wouldn’t keep looking at it and went back to doing feature updates with single-minded focus until Anna stopped by on her way out to throw her arms around his grumpy shoulders from behind and kiss his cheek and whisper, “It’s late. Go home. It’s gonna be okay, Cas.” 

 

Castiel’s scowl did not lift but his eyes stung, and he crossed his hands over her hands where they wrapped around his chest and held them for a minute, fighting tears. She squeezed really hard and was gone. In the privacy of Castiel’s empty cubicle a couple traitorous tears escaped to tickle his cheeks, but he wiped them away furiously and logged off his workstation, collected his laptop and coat, and stomped out to his car.

 

Castiel drove home in silence. He had no wish to listen to the news when he was already so angry, and the Metallica cassette he kind of wished he had handy belonged to Dean. He pulled into his driveway livid and without any food, threw a couple scoops of protein powder in some milk and drank it, pulled on shorts and sneakers. He needed a run. This anger was unsustainable. He was going to give himself a headache, or an ulcer, or both.

 

Two hours later Castiel made it back to his driveway, exhausted. It was well past dark and he was weak with hunger, but the run had stretched all the soreness out of his muscles at least, so that was a win. Somewhere around the second hour his rage had deflated, replacing itself with a weary existential despair, and he heaved his body and his despair up his front steps and into his empty kitchen, stripping as he headed upstairs to shower.  

 

By the time he’d showered and dealt with his unrelenting curse of a libido by shoving the jackhammer up his ass and turning the remote on high for the few seconds it took to wrench an excruciatingly dissatisfying climax from his body, Castiel was irritable again. Food would probably help but there was nothing that wasn’t ingredients in the house. Castiel pulled on shorts so he wouldn't traumatize the delivery guy, wandered downstairs to sit at the kitchen table and look through his takeout menus. He was trying to decide between Chinese takeout or pizza when he remembered he hadn’t turned his phone on all day. He switched it on and set it back down on the kitchen table, trying not to stare at it but unable to look at the menus while he waited to see if a message had come in.

 

When his phone started buzzing and traveling across the table his hands started to shake, and when he picked it up to see Sam’s number his heart leapt into his throat as he pressed “Open.”

 

“ _ hey cas. deans asleep & turns out I get 2 sleep in tmrw 4 a change. care 2 die repeatedly on the field of battle? ;-) _ ”

 

Castiel checked the timestamp desperately, but it was only half an hour old. Maybe Sam was still up? He texted back as fast as he could, cursing at the triple-keying required to form full sentences, but he could not abide abbreviations.

 

“ _ Yes! I mean, you can try, spineless cur! Are you still up? :-)  _ ”

 

A message came back almost immediately.

 

“ _ bring it, cannon fodder! usual server ;-) _ ”

 

Castiel’s mood jumped about a thousand percent in the space of ten seconds, and he reeled at the shock of it, the elation filling him with giddiness where before he had wanted nothing more than to rewind time and stop himself from caring in the first place. He texted back as fast as he could triple type and then called in orders for pizza  _ and _ Chinese food, his favorite several kinds from each, so that he didn’t have to decide.

 

“ _ I’ll be on in five minutes. I’m ordering food. :-) _ ”

 

Castiel sank into his couch and fired up his console, pulling on his headset. He popped onto the server the boys favored and growled, “I’m coming for you, Winchester,” only to hear a whispered, “You gotta find me first and I’ve got ALLLLL the ammo.” He actually teared up to hear Sam’s voice but he didn’t let it stop him from sneaking up behind Sam’s avatar and shooting him in the back of the head. The sotto voce “FUCK” he overheard through his headset gave him life, and he settled in contentedly, pausing only when his takeout orders arrived. Castiel elected to wolf down some pizza because it was faster, and shoved the rest in the fridge.

 

Sam and Castiel stayed up well past their respective bedtimes refusing to quit until a victor was determined, and eventually agreeing to end on a tie because tomorrow was gonna be hell. Castiel didn’t mean to, but as they said their goodbyes he whispered, “Thanks Sam.” Sam’s whispered “I miss you too,” just before he logged off, lodged in Castiel’s chest and eased some of the ache there, and he headed to bed immensely comforted, rage and existential despair replaced with quiet contentment. 

 

Castiel brushed his teeth marveling that another human could hold such sway over his mental state, flopped his exhausted body prone to fall asleep immediately, despite forgetting to take the pill he hated.

 

***

 

On Wednesday, Castiel was exhausted, but still felt worlds better.  He stopped by Anna’s cubicle on his way in to give her a real hug and she leapt up to accept, wrapping her arms around him and crushing her face to his chest. He laughed and kissed the top of her head, even though they were at work. Anna grinned up at him fondly and did not ask him a single thing, for which he was so grateful he offered her a detail voluntarily.

 

“Sam texted me last night while Dean was asleep, and we played Halo.”

 

“Aww that’s sweet,” she sighed. “Tell me you crushed him mercilessly.”

 

“I tried, but neither of us could beat the spread. We ended up tied.” Castiel yawned and covered his mouth guiltily, adding “Waaaay too late.”

 

“Ha! You’re not a college kid anymore, Cas!” Anna chortled, and he fake punched her arm at the insult. 

 

“Hush your mouth, child, I am at the top of my game.” Castiel grinned down at her and she punched him in the arm in return, but almost for real.

 

“What’s  _ that _ for?”

 

“For looking so good when you’re pushing middle age -”

 

“HEY!“

 

“ - but mostly for not texting me.  _ I LOVE GAMES, CAS _ .”

 

Castiel nodded, it was a fair cop. “I’ll text you next time, Anna, I just missed him so much I didn’t even think about it.”

 

“I get it, man bonding time, blah blah blah.” She stuck her tongue out at him and plopped back down in her chair. “Go fix shit that’s broken, Cas. I sent you a list.”

 

Castiel nodded and headed back to his own cubicle to get to work. He headed to the breakroom at lunch, apologizing to his friends for his behavior yesterday, but they made room for him at the table, assured him everyone had shitty days and he was forgiven. He chatted and laughed and ate the sandwich he had carefully checked for pickles  _ before _ paying for it, and he ate his chips too. When he got back to his cubicle he realized he’d forgotten to text Dean, and he thought about that for a while, finally deciding to toss the ball into Dean’s court. He didn’t want to be a pest or to seem desperate and he wasn’t sure regular friends should be as insistent as he was being.  He composed carefully, made the character limit with three characters to spare, read it several times over, and pressed send.

 

“ _ Hello Dean. I’m not sure if you’re receiving my messages but if you are I must be getting on your nerves by now. I’ll be here when you’re up for company. :-) _ ”

 

He turned off his phone so he wouldn’t be tempted to babysit it, and went back to fixing shit that was broken.

 

***

 

On Wednesday Dean learned how to tile a bathroom. At lunchtime, Matias quietly nodded his satisfaction to see Dean eating chicken strips but he did not say a word, and Dean was quietly grateful. He ate his lunch and drank his water and felt like something was missing, but he didn’t know what it was until he was back on his knees setting tiles in grout and his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out to read the text from Cas, and his heart sank. His window was closing. He was going to have to step up or lose him, and the question of what to say and how to say it consumed him for the rest of the day, through work, through showering and cooking spaghetti and heating sauce and eating dinner with Sam when he got home. He was preoccupied enough that Sam finally waved his hand in front of his face, snapped his fingers.

 

“What’s eating you, Dean?”

 

“I’m trying to figure out what to say to Cas,” Dean sighed. “I think my window’s closing. He left the ball in my court today.”

 

“Yeah?” Sam’s attempt at casual fooled neither of them, and Dean rolled his eyes, fished his phone out of his pocket to show Sam the message.

 

“Oh, Shit,” Sam exclaimed.

 

“Yeah.” Dean sighed heavily. “I don’t think I can text this conversation, I think it needs to be face-to-face. Maybe this weekend.”

 

“Yeah, I do  _ not  _ want to be there for that.” Sam winced, shaking his head.

 

“Har har, you are  _ so _ not invited. I just gotta figure out what the fuck to say.” Dean shook his head in frustration, his face anguished. “I can’t pretend nothing happened Sam, I have to talk to him about it. I’ll apologize for trying anything, but I have to clear the air. I can’t… I can’t look him in the eye if we don’t talk about it.”

 

“Well, figure it out, Dean, and make a date before it’s too late.”

 

“Fuck off, I’m  _ trying. _ ”  Dean smiled wanly to ease the sting, and Sam smiled ruefully, shaking his head.

 

“I know you are. This sucks and I’m really sorry, Dean. Cas would have been lucky to get to be with you and it’s his loss. I mean it.” He met Dean’s eyes, completely serious.

 

Dean didn’t know what to say, and he stared at Sam for a long moment before looking away, blinking fast. “Thanks, Sammy,” Dean whispered finally, his voice rough. “That means a lot, man.”

 

“You’re the best man I know, Dean.”

 

“Shut up, Sam.”

 

“I mean it.”

 

“Seriously, shut up, you’re gonna make me cry, Bitch.”

 

“Then that makes you the Bitch, Jerk.”

 

They snickered in unison and Sam got up to clear away the plates and do the dishes for once, while Dean stared into the middle distance, thinking furiously.

  
  


***

  
  


After work, Castiel drove straight to his gym and worked out his upper body and core until he could barely lift his arms. He showered unselfconsciously, as was his wont, taking no pleasure in the glances that came his way today, but it was certainly his karmic duty to pay forward the hundreds of similar glances he had stolen in this place and he made no attempt to be modest. On the contrary, he showered with his head tipped back and his eyes closed, letting the water sluice over the planes of his back to ease the ache in his muscles, and to ease the caress of eyes over the rest of his body, should anyone be both shy and in need of something to think about later. It was literally the least he could do.

 

He turned into the spray to soap his face and pits and chest, and incidentally to give plenty of warning before opening his eyes, turning off the water, toweling off on his way to his locker.  He turned down the actual invitations, demurring with an apologetic half-smile and a slight shake of his head each time. There were always new guys cycling through here that weren’t really here to exercise - none of the regulars gave him more than a nod or a smile hello. 

 

Castiel got dressed and headed home to reheat Chinese food and flip despondently through the television channels while he ate, pondering how to eradicate the weakness that made him crave companionship now, whereas before solitude had been perfectly satisfactory. He remembered he hadn’t turned on his phone since lunchtime and he pulled it out of his laptop case to turn it on, setting it on the end table only to have it try to escape as a message buzzed in. He captured it with one hand, thumbed the message open. It was from Anna.

 

“ _ Play with meeeeeeee :-D _ ”

 

He checked the timestamp, it was barely twenty minutes old. He set his food down to text her back

 

“ _ Are you sure your ego can take the beating your ass will receive, Milady? ;-) _ ”

 

to receive an answer within moments

 

“ _!@#$% BRING IT SCOUNDREL (what server?) :-D _ ”

 

He texted her the particulars with delight curling around his heart. Exhaustion be damned, he could sleep when he was dead. Anna was pretty damn good and her insults were even better, but Castiel was pretty consistently beating her until around eleven when Sam logged in and the accursed Winchester immediately teamed up with Anna the Terrible and between the two of them they murdered the ever-loving-bejeezus out of him until he cried foul, laughing and cursing into his headset. 

 

“Only children and weaklings hide in the aprons of women,” Castiel accused, and Sam straight up giggled while they both listened to Anna go apoplectic, hitting practically ultrasonic heights of screeching before she realized she was being goaded.

 

“Ohhhhh you fucker,” she wheezed, and Castiel laughed out loud, his cascade of joy beautiful and pure. He could  _ hear _ Anna smiling, and he made a kiss noise, adding, “That was NOT for you, Winchester.”

 

“Yeah yeah, you’re not my type,” Sam joked, and then fell guiltily silent but Castiel did not catch it, still grinning at getting such a rise out of Anna. He glanced at his clock and moaned, “Ohhhh shit it’s so late.”

 

“Yeah,” Anna answered. “Tomorrow’s gonna be brutal. Bedtime! Stat!”

 

“Agreed,” Castiel answered. “Good night, guys.”

 

His friends wished him goodnight and he headed to bed almost content and also wired with so much adrenaline from battle he had to fuck himself twice to finally calm down enough to fall asleep.

  
  


***

  
  


On Thursday, Dean was so preoccupied with worry Matias pulled him off tiling and put him to work running a paint roller. It was tedious, repetitive work that let his mind wander, for which he was eternally grateful, and he turned potential opening conversational gambits over and over in his mind, unable to find anything even remotely acceptable for starting a serious conversation with Castiel. No text came at lunch, adding even more urgency to his search, and he found himself completely at a loss for what to do. When Alejandro swung by at lunch to discuss business matters with Matias and saw Dean’s face, he spoke softly to Matias, who nodded, and Alex signaled Dean to follow him to his truck.

 

Dean wiped his hands, stepped out of his disposable coveralls carefully so he could get back into them later, and followed Alex obediently to his truck. Alex got in and waved Dean to the passenger seat, rolled up the windows and started the engine so he could run the AC and turn the radio on. Only once he had created this zone of privacy did he turn to face Dean, his face serious.

 

“What foolish thing are you planning, Dean?” Alex demanded.

 

“What?” Dean was taken aback, staring at him in surprise.

 

“I can see it all over your face, mi amigo. What are you planning?”

 

“Uh…” Dean fidgeted, busted. “I’m trying to figure out how to apologize to Cas so we can be friends again.”

 

Alex stared at Dean evenly, his face inscrutable. He shook his head, and when he spoke his words were hard, but his face was gentle.

 

“You are not un perro Dean - ” Dean looked confused and Alex continued without pausing for breath “- a dog, Dean, you are not a dog. You must not grovel at the heel of your Castiel as a kicked dog crawls to the heel of his master to beg forgiveness for deserving his violence, or a woman who crawls to her marido de mierda to beg forgiveness for making him angry enough to beat her.”

 

Dean winced, but Alex was not finished. “You are a  _ good _ man, Dean, slow to anger and quick to help those around you, even those who can do nothing for you in return. I meet a hundred men before I meet one I would be proud to call mi amigo, and I will not let you crawl to Castiel on your knees. He does not deserve you.”

 

Dean’s eyes were misting but he fought it, hard. “I appreciate you Alex, I do, more than I know how to tell you, but I want to stay friends with him. I’ve got to, I just... I need to, and I’m running out of time.”

 

“Then let me take you out tomorrow, Dean.” Alex grinned at Dean’s alarm, held up a placating hand. “I am not offering what you think Dean. Yes, you are muy guapo but I do not fuck mi amigos. How would you say - I don’t shit where I eat.” 

 

Dean snorted, relieved, and Alex added musingly, “Besides, you are not my type.”  Dean’s eyebrows rose in a slightly offended challenge, and Alex grinned his dazzling smile, conceded, “Okay Gringo, if we were not amigos I  _ might _ make an exception for your pretty face, es verdad, but you are too young and  _ much _ too innocent for me.” 

 

Dean spluttered in protest and Alex grinned like a wolf.

 

“Let me be clear, Dean. When was the last time you got laid?”

 

Dean blew out a breath and slumped against the cracked vinyl of Alex’s passenger seat, defeated. He ran a hand through his hair, trying and failing to pull up a time frame. 

 

“I don’t even remember, Alex.”

 

“That’s what I thought. You cannot go see Castiel like this, when the last sex you remember is tu verga en tu mano -  your dick in your hand , thinking about him.”  

 

Dean winced but made no attempt at a denial. There was nothing to say. Alex could read him like a book.

 

“Come out with me. Let me introduce you to some men I know.”

 

Dean’s eyes flared in alarm and he shrank into himself unconsciously, crossing his arms and leaning towards the truck door. Alex shook his head gently. 

 

“There is nothing to be afraid of. I know you don’t understand because you have only been with women, so I am going to explain something to you. Sex with men is easier and better than with women.“ 

 

Dean’s eyebrows rose skeptically, and Alex laughed and raised his hands, “Wait, I will explain. The hombre in the bar does not care if you say sweet things or if you will call him the next day. He does not want tu corazón, he wants only your dick.” Dean snorted and Alex nodded and grinned, but he wasn’t done talking.  

 

“Dean, I can find you ten men right now who will be happy to suck your dick - and better than you’ve ever had in your  _ life _ \- or let you fuck them, whatever you want, and you don’t have to do anything for them. If you tell them you are not looking for more, they will still be glad to do this for you. You don’t have to let anyone fuck you if you don’t want to, if they say this is what they want you just say ‘no, gracias,’ and you don’t leave with this hombre, you leave with another instead.”

 

Dean’s eyes were huge, staring at Alex in disbelief, and Alex nodded.

 

“I know, too good to be verdad, right?  Not so. You are a fine-looking man Dean. Many men I know will be glad to suck your dick just to see you come. And then you can go to your Castiel and not be thinking about him like this, si? Tu coraz ó n esta roto - your heart is broken, but your dick is not broken, si? It will help, I  _ promise _ .”

 

Dean stared at Alex dubiously, and Alex watched his face carefully. 

 

“You don’t have to do anything Dean, just come out with me ma ñ ana. I will take you someplace nice, someplace you will like. Take your Baby so you can leave anytime you want, we will each drive ourselves. Have some cervezas. Meet some men who will look at you the way you should be looked at. Remember that you are beautiful, si? Then, at least you will feel like a man when you talk to your Castiel. He can wait  un día más .”  

 

Dean’s look of alarm had faded over the course of Alex’s persuasion, and he actually smiled at the idea of taking his Baby out and having a couple beers. He wasn't sure he was up for any of the rest it, but by the time Alex rested his case, Dean was nodding his acquiescence to at least check the place out, and Alex grinned triumphantly.

 

“Bueno. You are done here, Dean. Go tell Matias I need you, get your lunch pail. I will get Manuel to pay you tonight - yes, even for mañana’s wages, I know how hard you have been working -  and you will get some sleep. Go see Maria mañana and find a shirt that looks good on you until you gain back your weight, si?” 

 

Dean looked down at himself forlornly and Alex punched him in the arm lightly. 

 

“You are still muy guapo, Dean, if I did not know you I would hate you so much for this.”  

 

Dean laughed out loud at that, his eyes crinkling with mirth, and Alex grinned; his work here was also done.  

 

“Go. Come back. I will take you home.”  

 

Dean nodded obediently and hopped out of the truck cab to carry out his instructions, while Alejandro watched him leave, shaking his head in disbelief and clicking his tongue in appreciation.

  
  


***

  
  


On Thursday Castiel zombied his way through work, his only comfort that Anna looked worse than he did. They bought each other triple espressos at lunch and crawled back to their respective desks until it was time to go to  _ Sugar Tonight _ , where Castiel did not even order a drink so he could make it through the drive home.  He fell asleep sitting at the table and his friends teased him mercilessly, especially when he woke with a start, to protest that Anna had kept him up half the night, and then to blush crimson when this got a round of suggestive jeers. 

 

Anna rolled her eyes and added, “ _ gaming _ ,” and the conversation immediately turned to planning the next game night and when that would be. 

“Keep me posted guys, I have to get home, I’m exhausted,” Castiel yawned, unable to keep his eyes open, and headed home with his car radio blaring and the AC blasting to make it home, collapsing into bed without eating or even brushing his teeth.

 

 


	57. Cry, Baby, Cry

On Friday, Castiel was sure Dean must have fully recovered by now. He kept hoping for a text all day, but none came.  He didn’t dare text Dean again, and by the time four pm rolled around, he realized it was too late to make dinner plans for the evening. He’d be eating alone. The lines of code blurred on his monitor and he rewrote the same logic a dozen times before he gave up, wiping his eyes angrily.  

 

Castiel went over and over their last interaction in his mind. The very thing he had carefully planned to avoid must have already happened, it was too late. He had upset Dean; he must have been too obvious and failed to hide his arousal. He’d made Dean uncomfortable, or angry, or disgusted at his sexual orientation maybe, he had no way of telling. He didn’t have to fight these feelings, hide them away so he could keep Dean in his life, Dean was going to make the decision for him. There would be no more Thursday night pool, no more companionable Friday nights crowding into his kitchen trying new incredibly unhealthy recipes. No more gentle body heat he dared not lean into. No more perfect moments to tuck away and cherish. No more  _ best friend _ . And he was going to miss the hell out of Sam, too.

 

Castiel sighed heavily, pushing pain and despair away and replacing them with the numbness that was circling at the ready. He was alone before he met Dean, he would simply have to return to being alone now; he was obviously meant to stay that way. Pleasant as this last year had been, he had been deluding himself to think such happiness was meant to last. For others maybe, but not for him. 

 

Everyone snuck out early on Fridays half the time anyway lately, just because he never did didn’t mean he couldn’t start.  Castiel shut down his workstation and collected his belongings. He nodded at Anna on his way out, who smiled at him and winked. He flashed her a wan smile and stumbled out to his car.

 

The drive home gave Castiel too much time alone with his thoughts and they tumbled and swirled as he refused to face the grief hovering, waiting to land. He pushed it away, refusing to look directly at the bleak emptiness of his life without Dean in it.  Maybe he had made Dean uncomfortable, but Dean was a good man. Castiel couldn’t imagine Dean being a bigot. Castiel could apologize, promise to keep his distance, beg forgiveness. He understood that there was a difference between abstract “Love is Love” support for people of all kinds and the personal discomfort of your platonic friend being sexually attracted to you, but maybe Dean could find it in his heart to let his indiscretion slide if he vowed never to let it happen again. 

 

Or maybe it wasn’t his indiscretion at all, maybe Sam had needed something. Maybe Dean had found another woman and was preoccupied somewhere making love on his last days of vacation. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe Dean’s phone was broken. Castiel pulled into his driveway laughing ruefully at the bouquet of straws he was collecting. At this rate he’d need a vase.

 

Mostly the kitchen contained a selection of ingredients from the last couple recipes he’d planned to try with Sam and Dean last Friday, but there was still leftover Chinese and the pizza from earlier in the week.  He ate a piece of cold pizza straight from the box, flipping through the TV even though it was bright and sunny out and he should go for a run.

 

By eight o’clock, as the sun waned into a bed of thickly rolling clouds, Castiel felt like a complete slug and turned off the television he hadn’t been watching anyway. His skin was crawling with pent up energy; he should have gone for that run.  He thought about masturbating - for real this time - but the nagging worry about where his mind kept going for that just made him feel sick to his stomach now, and the nervous energy that he usually would have burned off pleasantly that way for an hour or so went nowhere, made him jumpy and irritable. He didn’t feel like turning on his computer or game console or doing anything else and he raged pointlessly at himself for his lack of motivation.

 

By nine o’clock, Castiel checked the darkened sky and it looked like it might rain, but it was still warm out.  _ So be it _ , if it rained he would get wet. He irritably stomped upstairs and pulled on running shorts and a jogging shirt with reflective tape in it so no one would run him over, grabbed his keys, pulled on his sneakers. 

 

Castiel took one of his less usual routes for a change of scenery and because it had a fair number of streetlights and sidewalks. By the second mile he was angry, by the third he was furious, by the fourth he started to feel a little better. He added a loop mentally so it would be a good ten mile round trip since he had so much pent up sexual energy still to burn. 

 

Castiel's route took him through a neighborhood he hadn’t seen in a couple months, and there was a new restaurant replacing what had been a taco place. It looked classier than the taco joint, a red facade with dark wood and dim lighting, maybe a burger joint or a sports bar? There were a couple guys hanging around out front in jeans and cowboy boots - oh, of course, probably just a new gay bar, they cropped up all the time. He rounded the corner of the sidewalk and there was Baby, parked outside a couple slots down, gleaming and beautiful and his heart skipped a beat, lurched into his mouth. Was Dean here, now, in this place? 

 

Morbid curiosity pulled him into the front door despite the dread in the pit of his stomach. He was drenched in sweat after running for an hour, his hair a spiked mess, but the bouncer winked and let him right in.

 

Castiel received a number of appreciative glances as he entered, eyes sweeping over his lithe, sweat-soaked body, but he paid them no heed. Castiel swept the place with one glance and found Dean instantly, his shape unmistakable even in a sea of men. Dean was standing in front of the bar with his back to Castiel. He looked a little gaunt, like maybe his illness had cost him ten pounds or so, and he was paler than Castiel remembered, a hint of a dark circle under the eye he could see in profile. 

 

Dean was wearing a fitted plaid shirt Castiel had never seen before, buttoned up in a way that flattered - the fabric pulled taut over his chest and back rather than open over a loose tee shirt as Castiel was accustomed to - and his best jeans, the ones he wore for casual Fridays at work if he didn't have a meeting, not the ones he worked on cars or hung out in.  He was talking to a strikingly attractive older man, wavy dark hair streaked through with gray, who was leaning with his back against the bar, his piercing blue eyes fixed on Dean’s face. 

 

Dean was holding a beer, he was lifting it and pressing it against his plush lips, he was taking a long pull, almost kissing the lip of the bottle. He was beautiful. He was smiling his best salesman smile at the other man, looking at him through those sweeping lashes. The other man was leaning into him, placing his hand on the small of Dean’s back, leaning close to whisper something into Dean’s ear. Castiel could see Dean shiver at the breath on his ear. 

 

Now Dean was looking at the other man with the same look Castiel had fantasized would be how he would look when he wanted to be kissed, the last look Dean had ever given him before bolting from his life. The look Castiel had shoved himself away from, horrified, to conceal his answering desire, leaving Dean alone in the living room. 

 

Dean, who had come out of the bathroom stricken. Who had fled as fast as he could without meeting his eyes. Who had subsequently fallen ill, allegedly with the flu... Dean, he realized abruptly, who had  _ not spoken to him since that moment _ . 

 

_ Oh, Christ _ .

 

Dean had _ already made _ the first move, the one that Anna had said might come, and Castiel had -  _ Oh, Jesus _ \- he had  _ rejected it,  _ fleeing from Dean with horror on his face. 

 

Castiel’s paralysis ended abruptly in a wail of anguish and his eyes stung as he felt his stomach lurch dangerously. He swallowed bile. He was turning, blindly trying to get away, shoving his way out the door, past the men looking at him curiously, anywhere but here. He didn’t see the man Dean was leaning into see him, sigh, point him out to Dean with a disappointed look on his face. He didn't see Dean looking up to see him running out, chagrin, resignation, an apology in his smile to the other man, a shrug, a disappointed answering smile. Dean turning to follow him out, the man at the bar watching him walk out with a sigh. A number of knowing glances following both of them before turning back to the low murmur of conversation and the clink of glassware, the space both men had just vacated seamlessly melting into the crowd as if they had never been there.

 

Castiel ran as fast as he could, past Baby, down streets he didn't recognize, just away, tears streaming unheeded down his face. He didn't care when it started raining, the rain washing tears down his face as he propelled himself away. He didn't care that he was soaked, that he was cold, that his teeth were beginning to chatter.  It was only when the thunder started that he had a moment of clarity of how completely asinine he was being. As his heart started to pound and the terror set in he collapsed to the sidewalk in a heap, trying to do the breathing exercises, but he was already far too upset, losing ground with every thunderclap, losing it entirely when he felt the ground shake as the thunder approached. The panic set in for good then and his tightly curled body shook and rocked in terror.

 

Castiel didn't really register the sound of Baby pulling up beside him, Dean at his side, Dean urging him to stand up, failing, lifting and dragging him into the passenger seat of the car. Eventually he noticed he was warm. Arms were wrapped tightly around him. The terror slowly receded. His heart slowed, he felt safe. He could smell Dean’s cologne, and Baby’s upholstery. He was content for a moment, happy, and then he remembered Dean, smiling his deal-closing smile at a man with his hand low on Dean’s back, and he felt sick.

 

The arms around him let go and Castiel made no motion to keep them, drowning in his own personal sea of misery, his chance missed, all hope of happiness lost, washing down the windshield into the sewer and out to the bay with the stormwater.

 

 


	58. Confession

The rain beat down relentlessly on Baby, sheeting down her windshield and windows and forming a soothing cocoon of sound around the two men sitting inside her, one with his arms wrapped tightly around the other. Castiel’s pulse was steady now, his breathing was slow and calm. Dean reluctantly let him go. 

 

Castiel made no move to stop him, no move to even show he noticed. Dean sighed heavily and retreated back to the driver’s seat, behind the safety of the steering wheel.  He ran his hands slowly around the familiar circle, steeling himself for the conversation there was no way of putting off any longer.

 

“So, I -”

  
“You like men.” 

 

Castiel’s voice was flat, monotone. Dean glanced sharply at Castiel but could read nothing at all from his face, which stared blankly out the window at the rain.

 

Dean’s stomach sank even further as he spat without thinking, “ _ Well, I like one man, so I thought I might like others. _ ”

 

There was a long fraught silence as both of them stared at the rain sheeting down the windshield and Dean sighed, rubbed his temples at the pain starting there, and just threw his cards down, face up on Baby’s bench seat, into the yawning chasm between them.

 

“Look,” he offered in a calmer voice, “I am not  _ good _ at feelings. I suck at talking about that kind of stuff. The first thing on my mind is always taking care of Sam. I am not  _ good _ at looking for happiness for myself. ” 

 

Dean studied the rivulets of rain making strings now, rather than sheets.

 

“I thought - I hoped - I was so  _ fucking _ sure - “ he took a deep breath. “Look it doesn’t matter what I thought, I made a mistake. I needed some time to get my head together when you… “ Dean gulped and continued,  “When you made it clear you don’t want me like I want you.”

 

Dean’s careful avoidance of eye contact cost him witnessing Castiel’s face transitioning to grief-stricken dismay, but Dean could feel Castiel about to interject and held up a hand to stop him.

 

“Let me finish or I’ll never get this out.”

 

Castiel fell still, but the tension felt different now.

 

“So… uh, I hadn’t even considered… So... that hurt pretty bad. I had a harder time dealing than I expected and I needed some time to get my head right and, well… Alex convinced me to come out with him tonight - someplace I’d like, he promised - and…”

 

Dean paused, searching for words. 

 

“Look, I haven’t been with anyone since I started, uh, having feelings for you. I’ve been… lonely.  I’m not gonna lie I was aching for some, uh, some comfort, and I figured maybe I could find something - someone - in there that could help me get ov- uh, help me out.  I’m sorry if my blowing you off hurt you or...” 

 

Dean drew a long, shaking breath and continued, “Or -  _ FUCK _ \- or if finding out I like you like that - or that I hoped you liked me back, I mean, why would you,” he mused bitterly, “Why would someone like you ever want me, I don’t even know what I was thinking.” 

 

Dean took a deep breath and begged, every word stabbing Castiel in the chest.   

 

“Anyway, I’m sorry if any of that upsets you, but I hope we can move past it. I’m really sorry.  I won’t try anything again, I promise. I’ll keep my distance, whatever you want. I still want to be friends.  I’ve missed you every day. I can’t even picture one good day that doesn’t have you in it.”  

 

“I… I need you Cas.” 

 

Dean finally lifted his eyes to meet Castiel’s, sorrow and fear and the dying embers of hope written across his face like a prayer.

 

Castiel’s face was raw pain.  He stared at Dean for a long moment with an utterly heartbroken expression and when he spoke his voice was rough with emotion.

 

“Dean. I never knew what desire meant before the night you held me in your arms.  I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you in my entire life.”

 

Dean just gaped now, slack-jawed, completely stunned.  

 

Castiel frowned and shook his head, clearly frustrated. 

 

“But I don’t just want...” 

 

He made a helpless up and down hand gesture that indicated Dean’s body.

 

“I want... I… I’m in love with you.” 

 

Dean shifted from stunned to furious in a split second. Castiel flinched but did not look away.

 

“Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME??? Then why didn’t you KISS me??? Why won’t you TOUCH me???”

 

Castiel’s eyes, already rimmed in red, now welled with tears again in earnest and he crumpled in the face of Dean’s fury.  He stared down at his hands, limp in his lap, and his shoulders shook.

 

Dean’s rage deflated and he dared to reach out and hold Castiel’s closest hand in both of his, insisting, this time very gently, “ _ Why, Cas _ ?”

 

Castiel’s voice was a low rasping murmur, and his breath came in gulps as Dean felt warm tears spatter his hands.

 

“ _ I’m so sorry Dean. I thought you were straight - It hurt so much - I didn’t dare - you never asked - you never said I could… _ ”

 

Castiel’s voice cracked and gave out on him mid-litany and he finished in a whisper. 

 

“... _ I didn’t have your permission _ .”

 

There were tears glittering in Dean’s eyes as he slid out from behind the steering wheel towards the passenger side. He climbed bodily into Castiel’s unresisting lap - pulled a one-eighty, parked his knees on either side of Castiel’s thighs on the bench seat, sat his ass on Castiel’s knees. 

 

Dean grasped Castiel’s shoulders firmly and waited several heartbeats until Castiel finally lifted his tear-streaked face to meet Dean’s steady gaze. Voice breaking with emotion, Dean carefully, clearly articulated every syllable.

 

“Castiel Novak, I have been  _ trying _ to give myself to you. Not just all this - ” he grinned ruefully and shimmied his ass in Castiel’s lap, then seriously put his right hand over his heart and continued, as Castiel’s eyes grew impossibly wider, “- All of this, too. If you will just TAKE me, I am  _ dying _ to be yours. Anything you want to do to me, anything at all,  _ ever _ , you have my extremely enthusiastic consent. I am begging you.

 

“ _ Please. For the Love of God. Touch me _ .”

 

 

 


	59. In Baby

The visceral sob that tore out of Castiel’s chest ended sounding more like a shout as he surged upwards into Dean’s waiting embrace. Dean braced for impact but he almost hit the dash anyway with the force of Castiel finally,  _ finally _ , reaching for what he wanted.

 

Castiel’s hips thrust forward into Dean’s straddling thighs as his arms came up to drag Dean closer, as close as possible, his arms far more powerful than Dean had ever anticipated.

 

Their mouths met in a scrape of Dean’s stubble across Castiel’s jaw as their faces turned to press lips and tongues together in a desperate rush of need. Dean groaned with relief as Castiel eagerly pushed his tongue inside his mouth to take possession of Dean’s breath and tongue and teeth, panting and sucking and grinding their tongues together as their bodies pressed, ass to thick thighs and chest to heaving chest.

 

Dean’s jeans-clad ass ground hard against Castiel’s soggy running shorts, the heat of Castiel’s swollen cock burning through the nylon and denim, Dean’s answering erection trapped behind denim and zipper and boxers but still urgently grinding into Castiel’s firm stomach as they panted and rocked and tasted each other’s lips and tongues and necks and jawlines.

 

It was rapidly not enough and Dean sat up to struggle with his shirt, Castiel wordlessly helping him, then pulling off his own soggy tee. There was a game delay as Castiel dove into Dean’s chest, pulling Dean down so he could lick and suck and taste but Dean struggled free to try to get out of his jeans, leaning back to unbutton and unzip and to shimmy them - a difficult endeavor now that they were damp from Castiel’s wet shorts -  down to mid-thigh as he worked them down over the smooth slide of his boxers. 

 

He tried to climb up off Castiel’s lap to finish the job but Castiel just groaned impatiently and took over, smoothly sliding out from under Dean and maneuvering him in the same motion until Dean found himself on his back on the bench seat with his denim-trapped legs bent up on the seat under Castiel, who was now straddling  _ him _ and surging up his body in a glorious undulation of smooth skin over lean muscle. Castiel’s chest glittered blue and white in the rain-filtered moonlight, his eyes so bright Dean had to shut his own for a moment to blink away a rush of emotion.

 

Castiel plundered Dean’s mouth until Dean cried out, worked his way down smooth planes of chest and over stiff nipples with his tongue and teeth, his hands caressing and kneading as Dean gasped and moaned and panted, helpless under the onslaught. Castiel licked his way down to Dean’s stomach, tasting the delicate trail of curls that had haunted his dreams, one hand bracing his weight on the seat, the other hand pinching and pulling and rolling Dean’s left nipple, then his right one, pausing only to use both hands to yank Dean’s boxers smoothly down over his binding jeans at mid thigh to appreciatively watch his cock spring free, then returning to his exploration of Dean’s navel with his tongue and teeth, his free hand no longer on nipples now but squeezing and kneading Dean’s asscheeks from below with the full stretch of his palm and long fingers and thumb, grazing now and then across Dean’s crack until he gasped, but never breaching him. 

 

Dean could not think he could not catch his breath he was lost under an onslaught of emotion and pleasure and white hot buzzing in his veins, his back arching, consumed now with an almost painful need for Castiel to touch his dick, waving cold and aching in the air. 

 

Castiel worked his tongue up and down Dean’s trapped inner thighs until Dean’s heaving breaths sounded more like sobs. Finally, Castiel’s right forearm moved to sear like a branding iron across Dean’s chest, Castiel’s weight sinking down on him filling some primal need and simultaneously making him desperate to arch his cock up for friction. 

 

Dean found himself completely trapped, jeans and Castiel’s knees pinning him below and a heavy hot vice across his chest above, an index finger and thumb delicately teasing his nipple. Dean was babbling now, begging and pleading and whining and trying futilely to lift his hips and then Castiel bore down  _ all _ his weight on the arm pinning him to the seat, clamped Dean’s knees forcibly between his own, and wrapped his free hand and his mouth around Dean’s cock all at once, engulfing his considerable length entirely in one long, smooth, burning,  _ exquisite _ slide of spit-slicked lips and tongue and ecstasy. 

 

Dean’s howl of surprise and relief and pleasure shook the Impala, beat against her windows and Castiel’s eardrums and made a home in Castiel’s’ chest, releasing the tightness there like a balm as Dean screamed and thrashed and bucked under Castiel’s pinning weight, twitching over and over in Castiel’s throat as Dean came harder than he’d ever come in his life. 

 

 


	60. What Happened to You, Cas?

Dean drifted for an indeterminate time lost in a sea of warm bliss, his eyes tightly shut, his cheeks glistening with tears. He didn’t notice Castiel gently wiping his groin down before twisting his own fingers as clean he could get them in the fabric of the reclaimed damp jogging tee, didn’t register Cas smoothly sliding up his boxers and his jeans, lifting his torso to reposition their bodies.

 

Dean came to leaning with his bare back warmly nestled against Castiel’s bare chest. Cas was wrapped loosely around him like a heated blanket, gently stroking fingers through Dean’s hair. Dean’s legs were sprawled the length of the bench seat, his body caged inside the vee of Castiel’s knees, one of which was propped against the steering wheel, the other crushed against the seatback. It couldn’t have been very comfortable for Cas but Dean made no move to change anything, for the moment utterly at peace.

 

As Dean’s mind spun up he had a realization and tried to speak, cleared his throat, tried again.

 

“Aww shit, Cas, I spaced out there for a bit, did you get to, uh, can I do anything for you?...”

 

He trailed off lamely, guiltily trying to sit up but Castiel’s arm across his shoulder gave no quarter, and Castiel placed a soft kiss to the back of his head and whispered softly. 

 

“Shhh. Later.”

 

Dean nestled back down, relaxing into Castiel’s embrace, back to searing hot chest, and just basked in this feeling, two heartbeats entwined in a slow, steady beat, Castiel’s fingers stroking his hair, over and over.

 

Dean, lost in reverie, heard himself softly asking, “What happened to you, Cas?”

 

Castiel’s entire body stiffened and Dean felt Castiel’s heartbeat spike behind him. He tried to backpedal as he realized what he’d asked, blurting out frantically  “ _ Oh! Oh Fuck! _ I’m so sorry you don’t ever have to tell me anything, I didn’t mean to ask -“

 

Castiel’s fingers paused in midair as they stopped stroking Dean’s scalp. For a long moment fate pulled taut, teetering on the edge of a terrible precipice. The blood rushing in Dean’s ears was the only sound he could hear, his entire body frozen in panic, his stomach cramping in terror that he had just ruined the best thing that had ever happened to him before it even had a chance to get off the ground. He would gladly have gone a lifetime never knowing if he could just  _ be _ with Cas.

 

Castiel’s pulse slowed by a massive force of will, and his fingers slowly returned to stroking Dean’s hair. Dean let out a ragged breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding and sucked in a new one, hoping beyond hope that it was going to be okay.

 

Castiel started to speak, his voice flat and distant, but his arm wrapped around Dean reassuringly tightly, his fingers stroking at the same slow pace, his heartbeat steady at Dean’s back.

 

“My second tour of duty in Afghanistan was… difficult,” he began.

 

“I was devastated when the towers fell. I enlisted to serve my country on September twelfth. I was older than the other recruits but I passed the physical and medical tests with ease and I had a facility with computer languages. The army accepted me with the younger men and I went through the training and excelled. My first tour was a whirlwind, rotated out in just a couple months. It went relatively well. We felt successful.”

Castiel paused, sucking in a long, slow breath before continuing. 

 

“The second time was different. We lost good men.  My whole platoon was struggling with morale, but our squad was hit really hard. I had a friend, private Hannah. He’d just lost his best friend.” 

 

Castiel’s voice was far away now, remembering.

 

“Michael was in the truck ahead of us. They hit an IED. It sounded like thunder. The ground shook and the blast hit my head on the dash. I was bleeding and disoriented. Hannah was already out of the truck screaming by the time I understood what was happening, but there was nothing he could have done. Michael died right there in his arms.”

 

Castiel was silent for a moment, collecting himself.

 

“Hannah was spiraling and I didn’t know how to help, none of us really did. They didn’t train us for that,” he sighed wistfully.

 

“I skipped the evening meal one night. My stomach was too uneasy for food, so I went back to my sleeping quarters to be alone. I found Hannah sitting on his bunk, crying. I didn’t know what to do, Dean.  I sat down next to Hannah. I put my arm around him. He turned towards me and kissed me on the mouth. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to make him feel bad so I did nothing.”

Castiel sighed, whether in resignation or disgust with himself Dean could not tell. 

 

“God knows I had willingly given myself to strangers. I thought if I could help my friend, give him something he needed, maybe... “ 

 

Castiel trailed off, adding in a small, sad voice, “but I didn’t want to.”

 

Dean was speechless, completely at a loss for what one might say. After a long pause, Castiel took a deep breath and continued, speaking in precise clipped sentences now, as if giving testimony.

 

“Hannah pushed his tongue inside my mouth. He undid his pants and he took my hand and put it inside his pants, on his penis. I let him do this. I was stronger than he was, I could have stopped him at any time. He moved my hand with his hand until he ejaculated. He said thank you. I said you’re welcome.”

 

“He tried to undo my pants but I got up and… and… and I ran away Dean. It felt... different than any other time. I felt... dirty. I washed my hands. I rinsed my mouth out with soap. I didn’t say anything to anyone.”

 

Dean’s mouth was hanging open in horror. He gripped Castiel’s knees with his hands and couldn’t breathe as Castiel continued, with eerie calm.

 

“The next day we got called in front of the Sergeant. Someone must have seen us and turned us in. He asked if there was any truth to the accusation that we had been involved in a homosexual act. ”

“Hannah… Hannah said that I came on to him, Dean. He said that he felt pressured to do what I wanted, that he was afraid of me, that he wasn’t a faggot. I didn’t know he felt that way Dean, I was devastated.”

 

Dean turned now, staring at Castiel’s face in horror.

 

“Our Sergeant asked me if this was true.”  

 

“I said ‘yes, sir.’ ”

 

“He asked if I was absolutely sure.“

 

“I said ‘yes, sir.’ “

 

“Our Sergeant was a kind man Dean, he took pity on me. He talked to Hannah privately, he must have found a way to cover it up. I don’t know what happened but no charges were brought against me. But even without criminal charges I was the one giving and he was the one receiving, it was cut and dry. The army gave me a blue discharge under Don’t Ask Don’t Tell. Under ‘Reasons and Authority’ they typed ‘homosexual conduct.’  They flew me home, Dean, with a shipment of faulty equipment. I never saw Hannah again.”

 

Dean gaped at Castiel, apoplectic with fury but trying very, very hard to remain calm.

 

“Why didn’t you defend yourself Cas?”

 

“I misread the situation Dean. I didn’t mean to come on to him but I must have by accident. I didn’t think about my size, I hadn’t been with anyone since…” Castiel floundered for a moment, searching for words. 

 

“I was... I was the strongest I’ve ever been then, Dean, and I’d never… I’d never been with a man physically smaller than I was before. I was stronger than he was, and I made him afraid. It was an accident, and I regret it every day.”

 

Dean was trembling now, with rage and horror, willing himself to ask his next question in an even voice.

 

“Why didn’t you say he kissed you, that he shoved your hand down his pants?”

 

Castiel looked away, his eyes distant and haunted. 

 

“He was hurting, Dean. I obviously gave him the wrong idea, and he was my friend. I cared about him Dean. It was my fault and I didn’t want to kick him when he was already so low.  He needed the army more than I did, he had no other skills.”  

 

Dean carefully took Castiel’s face in his hands, gently but firmly forcing eye contact.

 

“Cas. NONE of that was your fault. You did not misread the situation. You did not put any moves on him.  Hannah took advantage of you.”

 

“But -”

 

“No buts. Did you give him  _ your _ permission to kiss you, or to put his junk in your hand?”

 

“Nooo… but I could have stopped him and I didn’t...”

 

“Cas, it’s  _ normal _ to freeze up when you’re surprised, that happens all the time. Hannah wanted you. Maybe just on a whim, you know, soldiers in a foxhole, comfort, loneliness, your sweet ass, whatever, it doesn’t matter. He didn’t misunderstand your gesture, he didn’t feel pressured. He went for what he wanted when he got a chance.”

 

Castiel stared at him doubtfully, maybe with a tiny glimmer of hope, and Dean pressed on.

 

“Hannah lied, Cas. He wanted you. There’s no way he didn’t know you weren’t into what he was doing, he had to move your hand himself. He took advantage of you to get off, and when he got caught, he threw you under the fucking bus to save his own ass. That makes him a liar, a coward, and an asshole. End of story.”

 

Dean’s eyes widened as he gazed at the alternating shame and hope playing over Castiel’s face, still cupped gently in both his palms, and a ripple of gooseflesh raced up his arms and across the back of his neck, prickling across his flesh and giving him chills as the final piece of the puzzle snapped into place. 

 

“ _ Thank you, _ Cas, for being so careful to make sure I wanted you to touch me. I didn’t get why you always kept your distance, or why you weren’t responding to my moves, even though I was pretty sure you were into me. I thought it meant you just… didn’t want me, after all, and I was hurt and angry tonight when you said that you  _ did _ want me and you  _ still _ wouldn't touch me.” 

 

Dean stroked Castiel’s cheeks with his thumbs as Castiel’s eyes widened, tears shimmering over ethereal blue in the soft moonlight. 

 

“ _ I get it now, Cas. _ I get that you were holding yourself back to be a hundred percent sure that you were doing right by me and not pressuring me into anything I didn’t want, and I appreciate that, Cas, for real, thank you. You don’t have to hold back anymore, though. I want you. Every minute of every day, Cas, I want you. You’re all I think about.”

 

Dean climbed into Castiel’s lap again as Castiel broke down, this time to cradle him, to wrap his arms tightly around Castiel’s shoulders, rocking gently back and forth and whispering, “It’s okay it’s okay,” over and over as Castiel sobbed silently into his bare chest, his arms limp at his sides.  

 

When Castiel’s sobs had become only hiccups, Dean kissed him, kissed his forehead, kissed the salt from his cheeks, kissed his lips, tried to kiss his snotty nose until Castiel finally laughed a little and shoved his face away, wiped his nose on the back of his own bare arm and wiped that on Dean’s jeans -  earning a mock-indignant protest - pulled Dean down with both hands to kiss his mouth softly, slowly, three words unspoken but meant all the same in the caresses of lips and tongues and gentle hands.

 

“Come on,” Dean finally whispered, when they had stilled to just stare at each other in awe for a while.  “I’ll take you home.”

 

 

 


	61. Come Together

Dean fired up Baby and idled her for a while to defog the windows. The last of the rain sprinkled gently on the windshield and their artificial bubble of privacy receded, letting in more light from the streetlights nearby. 

 

As Dean shifted her into drive, Castiel reached automatically to put on a shoulder belt and laughed when he still couldn’t find one. He fastened his lap belt, Dean grinned at him, and they drove the ten miles to Castiel’s place in companionable silence.

 

“Will you stay?” Castiel asked hopefully, as Dean pulled up to park in front of Castiel’s garage.

 

Dean nodded. “I would like that.”

 

“Do you need to call Sam?”

 

Dean winced guiltily at that.  

 

“Uh, no…  I told him not to expect me home tonight.”

 

He turned his head to look at Castiel apologetically, but Cas was smiling at him softly, a gentle, affectionate quirk curving his lips.

 

“I am glad you chose me, Dean.” 

 

A frisson of joy tickled up and down inside Dean’s chest at that, and his returning smile was very bright.

 

He grabbed his duffel out of the trunk while Castiel retrieved his soiled jogging shirt from the back seat. Dean locked Baby and trailed after Castiel as Castiel unlocked his front door and held it open for him. This was not Dean’s first visit to Castiel’s place, not by a long shot, but something definitely felt different this time.

The first difference Dean noticed was Castiel stripping naked the moment he had the front door locked, wad of clothes in his hand, long strides towards the stairs.  “Shower?” he called over his shoulder, and Dean nodded hells yes and followed willingly.

 

“There’s very limited hot water,” Castiel explained apologetically, as he scrubbed rapidly but thoroughly, rinsed, stepped out of the old-fashioned claw-footed bathtub so Dean could climb under the stream of water in turn. “I don’t want you to run out of hot water,” Castiel continued matter-of-factly, toweling his hair dry,  “or I would have you right now.”

 

Dean’s exhaustion bowed gracefully and exited stage left, replaced with one hell of a second wind.    
  


“What???” Dean sputtered, soap definitely in his eyes now.

 

“You heard me.” Castiel’s voice was smiling. “Hurry up and meet me in my bedroom, first door on the left down the hall.”

 

“Unless you’re too tired?” Castiel sounded concerned now.  “It’s okay if you’re too tired Dean,” Castiel allowed, his voice now disappointed but understanding. “I find myself still intensely affected from touching you earlier and I won’t be able to sleep without relief, but I can masturbate on my own if you’re too tired.”

 

Dean had managed to rinse the soap out of his eyes and was gaping at Cas while simultaneously valiantly trying to hide a raging erection.

 

“I’m not too tired,” he choked out, as Castiel’s eyes traipsed over his body, calmly observing his predicament. “Not anymore.”

 

Castiel nodded, satisfied. “Good.” He glanced at Dean’s erection meaningfully. “Don’t touch that except for reasons of hygiene, I need it. First door on the left.”

 

Dean had never cleaned himself more thoroughly or more rapidly in his life. He used the washcloth Cas had offered him after all, scrubbed everything until he was pink, carefully avoiding giving himself any pleasure in the process. He rinsed and toweled dry and brushed his teeth for good measure since he had his dopp kit already sitting on the vanity.

 

Dean grew more and more nervous as his imagination supplied visions of leather and whips and chains extrapolated from every smut mag he’d ever seen, ever. His erection flagged as his heart rate increased and the adrenaline in his stomach started to feel sour. Dean wrapped his towel around his waist like soggy terry cloth armor and forced himself to walk down the ancient parquet floor of the hallway, leaving a trail of wet footprints in his wake.  

 

Dean stopped in front of the first door on the left, took a deep breath, and knocked, but the door wasn’t latched and knocking swung it open. 

 

It was a perfectly normal bedroom. Certainly it was very nice, rich reds, soft amber lighting, and a gorgeous cherry bedroom set, but there weren’t any restraints on the walls, no whips, no chains, no leather. Just a buck-ass naked Castiel working on putting a fresh set of crisp white linen sheets on his king sized bed.  He had two sides of the fitted sheet on and was just coming around to do the other side. Dean waved him back and took over the near side, pulling the corners of the fitted sheet snug over the mattress corners, and catching the other end of the flat sheet Cas tossed towards him.

 

Making the bed went a lot faster with two people. Dean shucked his wet towel somewhere around the comforter going back on, tossing it into the hamper Cas pointed at and catching the pillowcase Cas tossed his way to restuff it with the thick white pillow as Cas did the same across the acres of bed.

 

Only when the bed was crisply made did Castiel turn his attention to Dean, invading easily into his personal space, wrapping his arms around him from behind, pressing the entire length of their bodies together and nestling his chin on Dean’s shoulder.  Wherever their skin touched Dean’s skin crackled with electricity. With a satisfied wave of his hand at their handiwork, Castiel chuckled softly and whispered breathily into Dean’s ear, “We are going to  _ destroy _ these sheets.”

 

Dean didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but for the second time in twenty minutes Castiel’s completely unexpected, matter-of-fact,  _ incendiary _ honesty had him reeling with want. His breath hitched and his knees buckled. Cas caught him easily, nipped his neck, asked him, “What brand of condom do you prefer?”

 

“What???”

 

Cas released him to stand on his own recognizance, stepped over to his gigantic set of rich red cherry drawers, slid out the top one and waved at the available selection.  Dean’s eyes practically cartooned out of his head at the assortment of sex paraphernalia where he would have expected socks or underwear - row upon row of boxes of condoms in various sizes and colors and brands, a goodly collection of lubricants, and past that, a vast array of things that looked like you either fucked them or they fucked you, arranged in rows by size and shape.

 

Castiel grinned at Dean’s expression, which was vacillating somewhere between shock and awe.  

 

“It’s not like that, Dean. I haven’t had sex with anyone else since I don’t know, maybe the late eighties.”  

 

Dean’s eyebrows rose in astonishment and Castiel waved his hand impatiently. 

 

“I was a pretty teenager, Dean.”  

 

Dean didn’t doubt that for even a second.

 

“I was aroused by the way men’s bodies looked, so I understood quite young that I was a homosexual. I found no shortage of aesthetically appealing men eager to help me explore my sexuality, and I gave myself to them willingly. It was easy for them to take pleasure from my body any number of ways, and it was pleasant enough to be desired.” 

 

Castiel sighed wistfully, and continued. 

 

“I learned many ways to bring another man to orgasm, but I came to realize that something in me was different. I found that I was indifferent to pleasuring my lovers - although I became quite skilled at it - but of course I feigned the same kind of enthusiasm they showed me to be polite.”

 

“Not with you Dean,” Castiel promised reassuringly, as Dean started to look dismayed. “I enjoyed every moment of giving you pleasure. More than I can possibly put into words.”  

 

Dean looked bashfully pleased and Castiel waved his hand, continuing dismissively. 

 

“Anyways, I grew weary of pretending, so I took no more lovers.  Unfortunately, despite my indifference to touching anyone I’ve ever met - until now -”  Castiel swept his eyes over Dean with such hunger that Dean almost lost his balance again, “Despite that,  I am cursed with what I understand is an unusually high libido. I’ve become friends with several of the area sex shop owners and they provide me samples of their merchandise in exchange for my honest review.”

 

Dean gaped at Castiel now, so many revelations, so little time to absorb them.

 

“My reviews are actually quite popular,” Castiel continued with a satisfied smirk.

 

“In any case,” he murmured, caressing the rows of multicolored phallic objects fondly, “I keep my favorites. They aren’t exactly returnable.”

 

“Holy Shit,” exclaimed Dean, over enough of his shock to come marvel at the display. 

 

“You must have a fucking black belt in jacking off.”

 

Cas snorted and retorted easily, “Probably, but I’d hate to clean that dojo.”

 

Dean barked a laugh at that, and they both made a face, imagining it.

 

“Okay,” admitted Dean, finally, “I’m kind of nervous now.”

 

Cas looked at him curiously, waiting.

 

“Uh… I’ve never… “ He fidgeted, his nudity now a little uncomfortable, “I’ve never done any butt stuff.  I want to be with you Cas, I’ll do whatever you want me to, but uh, I need you to take it easy on me.”

 

Cas’s forehead crinkled up in confusion for a second and then smoothed out as he smiled at Dean gently. “It’s past one in the morning, Dean, and we’re both exhausted. We don’t have the time or energy to do your first time slow and gentle with lots of preparation the way I would prefer to take you...”

 

Dean’s eyes widened into a pair of matching pool cue balls as Cas continued, “Which is why I said ‘have,’ not ‘take’. I’d like to ride your cock now, if that’s alright?”

 

Oh. OH. “Uh, y-y-yes please,” Dean stammered, flushing from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

 

“I like when you blush,” Castiel observed, making Dean’s predicament about a thousand times worse. “I find it particularly arousing.  Now please, for the love of all things holy, pick one of these out; I cannot wait any longer.” His statement ended on a half-groan that sounded like pain.

 

Dean’s eyes flashed to Castiel’s cock at the sound he made and holy crap he wasn’t kidding, he wasn’t touching himself, he hadn’t moved, but he was decidedly ready to go, his thick cock curving up out of a fan of black pubic hair towards his navel in a frankly alarming display of what Dean could expect to be receiving in his very near future. Dean’s face blanched and he just stared for several seconds, his face warring between impressed and wanly grateful he wasn’t taking that tonight, but when he looked back up at Castiel’s face, that single raised brow, now conveying impatience and an edge of desperation, had him scrambling to pick a condom from the array at lightning speed, his fingers fumbling for a wrapper from the only brand that looked familiar. 

 

Cas deftly plucked it out of his fingers, crossed to the bed rapidly, his heavy cock bouncing at odds with his lithe runner’s body’s smooth motion, but he was completely unselfconscious, and Dean was mesmerized. Cas pulled back the sheet, tossed a box of wet wipes halfway across the bed to land right-side up in what looked like a well-practiced motion, and patted at the bed for Dean to jump up. Cas was already ripping open the condom wrapper, a small bottle of lubricant visible in his palm. Dean fell over himself to comply as quickly as he could, his body crackling with adrenaline, because Castiel was clearly done waiting.

 

By the time Dean was on the bed, scooched over to where Castiel had indicated, Castiel was panting with urgency. He swarmed over Dean’s body, arranging him to lean on pillows with his ass on the bed, touching him, caressing him, lips and teeth and tongue and several gentle, deft hand motions later and Dean was panting as well, astounded at the rush of desire in his tired body in what felt like half a minute.  Castiel was petting him, surrounding him, whispering to him, he was sliding a condom over Dean’s now swollen cock, there was a warm smooth slide of Castiel spreading a handful of lube he’d been palming liberally over the condom, and now Castiel was straddling him, easing his ass over Dean’s lap, staring at his face, and heat,  _ heat _ , everywhere Castiel’s body touched him Dean was on fire. 

 

Dean stared up at Castiel’s beautiful face, completely captivated, as Castiel slowly eased himself down onto his cock. Castiel’s eyes grew very wide. His lips flickered a smile of surprised delight and his eyelids fluttered in pleasure. A trickle of electricity tickled Dean’s spine as it dawned on him that despite their age difference and who-knew-how-many lovers Castiel had been with eons ago, despite Castiel’s intimidating drawer of novelty items, all of this seemed to be just as much a discovery to Cas as it was to him. And Cas was  _ into _ him.  _ Only _ him, apparently ever, if he had understood correctly. The fear, the curling feelings of inadequacy keeping Dean’s chest tight and his confidence in check burned away, replaced with a fire that flared bright and hot.  _ He could rock Castiel’s fucking world tonight _ .

 

“You like my cock more than your toys, Sweetheart?” he murmured as Castiel landed in his lap, fully seated at last. 

 

Castiel gasped, his eyes wide and bright as he met Dean’s hooded gaze. 

 

“Yes, very much more,” he gasped.  “Dean, you feel  _ incredible _ .”

 

Castiel’s unselfconscious honesty firmly locked down a spot in Dean’s Top Five Hottest Things Ever. Dean groaned in response and bucked his hips just the slightest bit, revelling in the tight grip and heat of Castiel around him.

 

He was rewarded with a gasp and an involuntary flutter of Castiel’s eyelids, and decided his Top Five were gonna get rewritten tonight.

 

“Show me what you like Darlin’,” he drawled, slowwwly rotating his hips with a low, breathy hiss as Castiel straight up whimpered. “Show me how you touch yourself.  The black belt stuff,” he added, grinning saucily. Dean was leaning up on his elbows now, his knees rising a little to offer more resistance to Castiel’s weight.

 

Castiel gave him a look that said he’d pay for his insolence later, but he took his cock in his lube-drenched hand and started stroking himself slowly, gripping loosely, long fingers wrapping around his girth and his thumb coming up over the head of his cock at the top of each stroke.  A half dozen strokes in he started to move on Dean’s cock, his thighs and stomach rippling with the effort. Castiel’s free hand came up to twist one of his nipples, rolling and teasing in time with his strokes, his chest now sheened with sweat, his head thrown back and his eyes tightly shut. 

 

Dean watched Castiel work with dark eyes, breathing slow and steady to keep his shit together long enough to do this right, because even with that spectacular orgasm taking the edge off for him a couple hours ago, Cas was right, this felt  _ incredible _ .  

 

Dean’s intent had been to take over, but Cas was gasping and intent above him, really going for it, and Dean thought wistfully that maybe he wasn’t invited to help.  Dean watched Castiel masturbate for several minutes, watched his chest rise and fall, watched the column of his neck gleam with exertion. 

 

Dean’s pleasure flagged as he entertained a trickle of doubt that Cas needed him for this at all, but as he watched Castiel’s face slowly travel from pleasure, to confusion, to frustration, he was both moved with sympathy, and selfishly heartened. 

 

Dean gripped Castiel’s forearm and gently stopped him moving it. Castiel drew a shuddering breath and opened his eyes, still undulating slowly up and down on Dean’s cock, his eyes glazed. 

 

“Please,” Castiel growled, need and frustration warring for dominance in his low groan, his body grinding to a halt in Dean’s lap. “I just need to climax. It doesn't usually take me so long.”

 

Dean reached up to stroke Castiel’s cheek where it was dark and rough, his fingers soothing over the scratchy stubble there. “It takes me longer with someone watching too,” Dean said gently.  “I’m right here though, Cas, and I’m dying to help. Please, let me make you come.”

 

Castiel looked down at him pleadingly.

 

“Dean, I want to give you endless pleasure in every way I know how. I can maintain an erection for hours, Dean, as long as you want, I never finish. I can suppress my gag reflex indefinitely. There are so very many ways I want to give you pleasure, so many things I’m sure you’ll enjoy.  But... what you are asking me now is the one thing I cannot give you.”

 

Castiel trailed off dejectedly, gripping his rigid cock tightly, angrily.

 

“I’ve never been able to have an orgasm any other way but by my own hand.  It was disappointing for my lovers and embarrassing for me when they tried, and it - it felt worse somehow when they didn’t try.”   

 

Dean stared up at him in consternation as Castiel spoke, completely matter-of-fact with even these most intimate details. 

 

“Eventually, I came to understand I was broken somehow. I gave up, Dean. I accepted no more invitations into any man’s bed and just took care of myself on my own, that was always easy and seemed better than wasting time providing what I could not receive in turn.”

 

“I… I thought we’d have more time together before I had to tell you, that I could convince you to forgive me my deficiency after I’d shown you the ways I could please you.  Now that you have shown me how good it can feel to give pleasure, I understand how disappointing I must be as a lover, and I’ll understand if - if...”

 

He trailed off, his eyes glassy, and looked away from Dean’s face for a moment. Dean looked dismayed, and Castiel sighed heavily before meeting Dean’s eyes again and continuing.

“I was hoping that sharing my pleasure with you like this would be enough. I was certain I could include you in this way. I don’t understand why it isn’t working; it’s never been so difficult before.”

 

“Have you never… Is this the first time you’ve ever tried to jerk off in front of someone else?” 

 

Dean gaped up at Castiel incredulously.

 

Castiel nodded dejectedly.

 

Dean’s heart broke as he gazed up at Castiel’s hopeless, defeated expression. He hadn’t understood the monumental gift Castiel was trying to give him, and now he felt like a colossal asshole for being jealous of Castiel’s hand, for feeling left out, and especially,  _ especially _ for being secretly glad Cas hadn’t been able to get off without his help.

 

He imagined all the times Castiel had been asked to try one more time, all the whispered promises of delight that no one had ever once been able to keep for this beautiful, lonely man, and tears glittered in his eyes, sparkling in the soft amber light. Dean prayed silently to anyone listening to let him be the one. Caressing his thumb gently back and forth across Castiel’s bottom lip he drew a long, slightly shaking breath.

 

“Cas you don’t have to, like, win me with your awesome sex moves, I’m already yours.  I will gladly watch you jack off for as long as you need, or I can go downstairs and wait if you want, hold you after, I’ll do whatever you want. I want to  _ be _ with you, Cas, whatever that means for us, however works for you works for me.”

 

Castiel looked so relieved he might weep, but Dean wasn’t finished yet. He smiled at Castiel gently, and laid out his case.

 

“But I think it might be different for you and me, Cas. I really do.”

 

Castiel looked dubious. “What do you mean?”

 

“You want me, don’t you Cas? Touching me in the car turned you on, right?” 

 

Castiel nodded, certain about that. “I was  _ very _ aroused, Dean.”

 

“And I feel good inside you, right? Better than a toy?“ Dean rolled his hips in a slow circle and Castiel gasped, nodded again.

 

“And you want me here too?” Dean’s voice was a husky whisper now, his right hand, palm down, splayed across his chest.  Castiel nodded again, vehemently “Yes, Dean, I do.”

 

“Then this time is different Cas, I think, because you’re into me. I can do this for you, I’m pretty sure.  At least let me try, we can stop whenever you want, you can take over anytime you want, it’s all good. Just, please…  _ please _ let me touch you for a little while.”

 

Castiel nodded once more, a fragile gift of hope that Dean prayed desperately he would not dash. 

 

Dean sat up, still completely sheathed inside Cas, wrapped his arms around Cas’s hips to hold them together, and heaved Castiel up bodily; rolled them both over sideways so that Dean was now on top, kneeling between Castiel’s thighs, still successfully impaling him.  He grinned down at Cas, who smiled back in surprise, his head resting on one of the thick white pillows. Dean lifted both of Castiel’s legs over his own shoulders, leaned forward onto the back of Castiel’s thighs. He retrieved the bottle of lube, squirted a generous amount in his hand. Bracing his dry hand beside Castiel’s head to hold his weight, Dean reached between their stomachs to grip Castiel’s flagging erection firmly in his slick fist. 

 

Castiel moaned in surprised gratification, and then began to moan in earnest as Dean started to move. The angle was different, but gripping a cock that wasn’t his own was a lot less intimidating than Dean had expected, almost like he had spent some time training in Castiel’s dojo. Dean smirked to himself and went to work. He stroked Castiel’s cock eagerly, testing all his favorite techniques to see what Cas would also enjoy, twisting his wrist and rippling his fingers and squeezing a little harder on the bottom of the downstrokes to earn a pleased groan each time. Dean tried several angles with his hips, moving slow and gentle like Cas had been riding him before, until he found the angle that made Cas cry out the loudest. Then he stayed with that one, but made his thrusts harder, snapping his hips to land against Castiel’s ass with solid impact, fisting Cas’s cock in time with his thrusts so that his fist mimicked the grip of Castiel’s ass around his cock.

 

Castiel groaned and shuddered and writhed under Dean’s ministrations, his eyes wide and fixed on Dean’s in wonder, an innocently intimate connection that made Dean’s heart ache with tenderness. Dean watched Castiel’s mouth fall open, shared his breath and tasted his cries of pleasure as sweat beaded on their foreheads and heat coiled low in their bellies, and when Castiel’s moans became wails, when his panting breaths came shallow and quick, each gasp for air starting before the last had ended, Dean knew he had won.  

 

He took a moment to memorize Castiel’s glorious unravelling underneath him, the way his eyes and mouth and body begged for him, and then he leaned his head down and pushed his tongue into Castiel’s eager mouth as far as he could, thrusting his tongue in and out in the same rhythm as the snap of his hips and the stroke of his hand, his tongue a filthy hot mimic of the thrust of his cock. 

 

Castiel  _ screamed _ around Dean’s tongue and into his mouth, and Dean sped up to ride him hard through the wave, pulling out just a little and slamming his hips into Cas in short rapid strokes to make him feel as good as he possibly could while Cas spasmed around Dean’s cock over and over and his cock pulsed in Dean’s hand, spilling between their bodies. 

 

As Castiel’s contractions slowed and finally stopped Dean slowed and stopped with him, rocking a little because it felt so good but no longer thrusting, kissing Cas gently now on his parted lips, holding Cas’s softening cock immobile so as not to overstimulate him, but not quite ready to let go. Dean watched Castiel return to his body, watched his eyes focus, watched his breathing slow and his lips curl into a smile, and he smiled back, content to stare at him like this forever.

 

Eventually Castiel cleared his throat and observed, “That was wonderful Dean, truly. But why didn’t you climax?”

 

“This was for you Cas.” Dean grinned down at him, still rocking just a little. “I’m okay.”

 

“I would very much like to feel you climax inside me Dean, will you please do that for me?”

 

“Fuuuck,” Dean groaned as Castiel's words sent a jolt of pleasure straight to his cock, “You really turn me on Cas, did you know that?”

 

“Yes. I have been paying attention.”  Castiel grinned smugly up at him, rotating his hips slowly as Dean’s eyelashes fluttered in pleasure. “I didn't understand for a long time, but now I do.” He stared up at Dean, his face shifting from smug to that intense scrutiny that made Dean’s skin prickle and his chest curl with warmth as Castiel chose his next words with care. 

 

“It arouses you when I tell you what I like, Dean. You like breath on your ears and on your neck but not on your nipples, that tickles. You like to be touched on your ass very much but you fear being penetrated there.”

 

Dean stared at Cas with his mouth hanging open as Cas slowly gyrated his hips in that smooth, delicious grip on his cock and called out his numbers, one by one.

 

“You like to feel helpless underneath me, Dean. You like the strength of my body and you like when I press my weight on top of you. “

 

Dean was panting now, short shallow breaths huffing past his parted lips, each phrase Castiel growled making him feel more exposed and simultaneously punching a jolt of pleasure through his body, coiling low in his gut and sending sparks of pleasure up his cock far more intense than anything the slow rolling motion of Castiel's hips should bring him.

 

“You like to hear me say your name, Dean. You like the sound of my voice.”  

 

Castiel’s eyes were fixed on Dean’s, his pupils wide and black, and Dean felt the intensity of Castiel’s attention curling around and through him, heavy, and powerful.

 

“You like when I watch you, Dean. You are embarrassed by how good it makes you feel, but I think you like that too.”

 

Dean gasped and flushed crimson, doubly mortified by the satisfaction on Castiel’s face as he openly admired the blush creeping up Dean’s face and chest, petting Dean’s burning cheeks with soft fingers.

 

“But most of all Dean,” growled Castiel, his voice dropping even lower as he stared up at Dean without blinking, the slow roll of his hips a maddening torture, “You like when I tell you what to do. You like when  _ I decide _ what happens next. And that makes me very happy Dean, because I like that you like that. I find that I like it  _ very _ much.” 

 

Castiel thrust his rapidly rehardening cock up into Dean’s sticky hand once for emphasis, then returned to his slow hip gyration. 

 

“I have never been more aroused than when you look at me like you are doing right now.” 

 

Dean stared at Castiel in awe, completely speechless as pleasure disproportionate to anything that was physically happening to him sparked and crackled along every nerve in his body, reverberating as each of Castiel’s words affected him like a physical caress. Curling sparks of pleasure twitched and danced up his spine and low in his groin, pulsed along his cock, tightening his balls and making him gasp and moan. He shut his eyes and panted, riding the lightning.

 

Castiel watched Dean’s face carefully, his pupils enormous, and slowly ground his hips to a halt.  He stared up at Dean, panting above him, and demanded sharply, “Dean! Open your eyes! Look at me!” 

 

Dean obeyed immediately, pleasure crackling all over his body at Castiel’s tone, and at the stern look he found on Castiel’s face.

 

“Come for me, Dean,” Castiel commanded. “NOW!” 

 

To Dean’s astonishment,  he felt Castiel’s sharp command course through his body as a physical jolt of intense pleasure, a flash point igniting the coiling heat in his loins.  The electricity crackling along his body exploded all at once in his cock and he cried out as his body obeyed, intense sparks of pleasure pulsing and twitching inside the scorching embrace of Castiel’s motionless body as Dean desperately willed his eyes to stay open and fixed on Castiel’s face. The approval he found there heightened his pleasure and he whimpered, struggling to keep his eyes open as his face flushed even darker from the exertion.

 

“You may shut your eyes now, Dean,” Castiel allowed gently and Dean did so gratefully, shuddering and struggling to hold up his weight, his bracing arm trembling with the exertion, his legs shaking. 

 

“You did perfectly Dean, you were  _ so _ good for me. I am  _ so _ proud of you,” Castiel murmured soothingly, petting Dean’s face tenderly. His praise lodged in Dean’s chest and made Dean’s breath catch and his eyes sting.

 

Castiel easily lifted Dean by the underarms, gently separating their bodies, extricating his hard cock out of Dean’s fist and Dean’s softening cock out his ass in one smooth motion and rolling Dean onto his back in another. He wiped up the mess with practiced efficiency, slipping Dean’s condom off and wrapping it in a wipe before tossing it in his wastebasket, cleaning off Dean’s stomach and groin, followed by his own stomach, groin and ass, before reaching for the lube and reapplying liberally.

 

“Look at me Dean,” he demanded again. Dean’s eyes fluttered open and then flared wide, watching eagerly. Castiel stroked his cock rapidly, urgently, kneeling over Dean, reaching only half a dozen strokes before he was panting and twitching, staring at Dean’s face intently as he came.

 

Castiel collapsed on his back next to Dean and reached for the wet wipes again, needing far fewer this time to clean himself and catch the few drops he had spattered onto Dean’s stomach.

 

Dean snaked a hand over to hold Castiel’s and they lay in companionable silence for a few minutes, catching their breath.

 

“Holy Shit,” Dean said, finally. “That was.  _ Fucking. HOT. _ ”

 

“I have to agree,” answered Castiel. “I am definitely ‘into you,’ Dean.”

 

“It’s four in the morning though, we should rest and continue this later.  Sleep first, or food, then sleep?”

 

“Oh, definitely food, then sleep,” Dean enthused, and they padded down on bare feet to the kitchen, hand in hand, to see what wonders Castiel’s refrigerator could manifest.

 

 

 


	62. Saturday Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will preface the next stretch only with the caveat that I am not in charge of what happens when I put these two in a room. I try to be, I had a nice long argument with Cas - don't you want to be easily categorized? Don't you know you won't tag well like this? - but he wants what he wants. I wrote an entire agonized essay to my poor Beta about how we set patterns early and maybe some things don't reset and she said, approximately, "Calm down, just let me take a look... GOOD GOD GIVE HIM WHAT HE WANTS CAITLIN."  
> So I did. :-D

Castiel burned with heat from an erotic dream that faded from his mind as he drifted towards awareness, arousal coiling around and through him with the pleasant pulsing of soreness in his asshole. Warmth wrapped all around him and something fantastic tickled at the edge of memory. He felt… well-fucked, but without any of the attendant sexual frustration that he associated with the pleasantly used feeling in his ass. He felt sated. Aroused, but arousal humming over the top of contented satisfaction in his body, and something warm and wonderful in his chest. 

 

Castiel’s mind spun up a little further in his half-sleep and fell into the well-worn grooves that always followed feeling fucked - trying to remember the man behind him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken in a lover’s arms, but it had never felt like this. He felt no irritation at discovering a morning-after straggler behind him, no itching need to leave so he could find the privacy to achieve his own release. Something was different, something was wonderful, something good was waiting for him to remember, and when the memories came flooding back at last he jolted fully awake and cried out.

 

“ _ Dean! _ ” 

 

Dean startled awake in a panic, his arms tightening reflexively around Castiel. 

 

“What?! What is it Cas?”

 

Castiel’s body was rigid, his heart racing, but he was not panicking. He fought the circle of Dean’s arms until he could turn around to face him, throw his arms around him, and bury his face in Dean’s neck, squeezing so tight Dean couldn’t breathe and made choking noises until Castiel relented his embrace a little. 

 

Dean sucked in a breath, nuzzled the side of Castiel’s hair. Cas wasn’t hyperventilating; his heartbeat didn’t feel like a panic attack.

 

“Are you okay Cas?” Dean asked, nibbling gently at Castiel’s earlobe. His voice was rough with sleep.

 

Castiel moaned at Dean’s breath on his ear, arching his back and pressing his erection insistently into Dean’s thigh. He pulled away from Dean to look him in the eyes, his arms still loosely around Dean’s ribcage. Castiel’s eyes were wet and Dean was dismayed to see it, but Cas shook his head at Dean’s concern and smiled wide and bright.

 

“Better than okay, Dean.  _ Wonderful _ . If I’m dreaming right now I never want to wake up.”

 

Dean blinked slowly, staring at Castiel’s face. His chest felt swollen and tight and his body responded with a flush of desire for the man in front of him, sudden and powerful. His breath hitched and Castiel’s grin turned sly as he felt Dean’s cock swell against him. 

 

“Yes, Dean?” 

 

Castiel slotted their bodies together so Dean could feel Castiel’s erection pressing against his own and Dean groaned, arching his back involuntarily. Dean turned his head so he wasn’t breathing in Castiel’s face.

 

“Yes, I want you, Cas,” he groaned, “but my mouth tastes like a mouse crawled into it and died.”

 

“Fine, I won't kiss you," Castiel growled in his ear. “We can take our time later Dean, but much as I enjoyed every moment of last night, I still need to climax before I brush my teeth.” He pulled his head away and waited for Dean to look at him before continuing. 

 

“Would you like me to give you an orgasm as well, or would you prefer to watch me masturbate?”

 

Dean gasped and his pulse quickened at Castiel’s question. He couldn’t answer and his face registered panic, unable to decide.

 

Castiel slowly undulated his body, grinding his cock against Dean’s, watching Dean’s face carefully. 

 

“Do you want to watch me come, Dean?” 

 

Dean nodded, his face agitated.

 

“But you want to come too?” 

 

Dean nodded vehemently, whimpering as Castiel rolled on top of him, still grinding dry.

 

“It’s okay Dean, you can do both,” Castiel soothed. Dean’s crestfallen face transitioned to relief and eagerness as Castiel threw the covers off and reached for lube from the nightstand. Castiel pushed his knees between Dean’s and shimmied down until he could press their dicks together, lifting his torso on one arm so Dean could see what he was doing between their bodies. He gripped both their cocks in his hand, spreading lube generously so that there was plenty between them before squeezing their cocks together, his thumb barely wrapping far enough around to get the job done. 

 

Castiel grinned down at Dean, staring up at his face in awe, and motioned for him to watch the action with a tilt of his head and an eyebrow, before starting to grind against Dean’s slickened cock with his own, slow undulations that rippled his stomach muscles as he worked. Dean stared between their bodies at their cocks deliciously sliding against each other, wrapped in Castiel’s long fingers, his eyes wide and his breath coming in gasps; his concern over the flavor of his morning breath completely forgotten watching this personal live porn show happening just for him.

 

After a couple minutes of grinding slow while Dean watched with his mouth hanging open, panting and gasping, Castiel groaned in frustration and stilled with the heads of their cocks gripped in his fist. He switched to moving his hand instead of his body to stroke their cocks at a more purposeful pace. 

 

“I can still feel you inside me, Dean,” Castiel growled, and Dean’s eyes darted from the show to look up at Castiel’s face in concern. 

 

“Shit, I’m sorry -“ Dean began, but Castiel cut him off, shuddering as he spoke, the circle of his fingers twisting with each rapid stroke.

 

“You misunderstand me; I am not complaining. The sensation is painful but also intensely pleasurable.” Castiel’s eyelids fluttered and he choked out, “I am very close to climaxing Dean, if you want to watch you need to look  _ now  _ \- “ his sentence ended on a groan and his rhythm faltered.  

 

Dean looked down between their bodies as fast as he could, his breath coming in short sharp gasps that sounded more like moans as he witnessed and felt Castiel’s cock pulsing against his own, spilling his pleasure over his hand and onto Dean’s stomach. Dean had never seen anything hotter in his entire life.

 

Castiel watched him with hooded eyes, resumed moving his hand despite the mess and his softening cock. He adjusted himself in the circle of his fingers so his hand was stroking more of Dean’s cock than his own, grinning down at Dean at the obscene sound of lube and ejaculate squelching as his hand slid rapidly over their cocks. 

 

“Come for me Dean,” he coaxed, ”I want to watch.”

 

Dean shuddered, staring wide-eyed at their cocks moving in and out of Castiel’s hand, but Castiel’s attention felt intense and powerful and the feeling drew his gaze. When he looked up Cas wasn’t watching their cocks at all, he was watching Dean’s face. The unequivocal, ardent desire Dean found on Castiel’s face flooded warmth into the places Dean still hurt from replaying the look of horror he’d memorized in agonizing slow-motion, made his breath stutter and his chest feel like bursting, and he blinked rapidly as his eyes started to sting. 

 

Castiel’s hand did not slow, but his expression softened, tenderness layering over the desire there. “Yes, I want you, Dean,” he whispered, and his affirmation pulled Dean over the razor’s edge into ecstasy. 

 

Dean cried out and convulsed as he crested and he strained to lift his face up towards Castiel in an instinctual plea for more intimacy, which Cas read loud and clear, leaning down to thrust his tongue into Dean’s mouth despite his earlier complaints. Dean groaned with relief, tears spilling unheeded down his face as he eagerly yielded to Castiel’s plundering tongue, his heart joining his body in soaring, high and free.

 

Castiel waited for Dean’s cries to quiet, for his body to slow it’s convulsions and for the tension in Dean’s body to collapse beneath him before gently releasing Dean’s mouth from captivity, carefully extracting his hand from between their bodies, wiping his hand on the sheet pile behind him, and collecting Dean in his arms. He dropped his weight on Dean, heedless of their mess, and just held him, pressing his cheek to Dean’s cheek and burying his face in Dean’s neck as he had when he had first awoken. Dean’s face was wet against his shoulder, his breath hitching, and Dean’s arms came up to wrap tightly around him, clutching as though Castiel might be a mirage that could disappear at any moment.

 

Eventually, Castiel’s not inconsiderable weight threatened to collapse Dean’s lungs and definitely his bladder, and he tapped out reluctantly, grinning up at Cas as they pried their torsos apart and made matching faces at the rorschach they had created. Castiel grinned and pulled the soiled top sheet over to get enough of it that they could head to the shower without dripping, stripping the bed on their way out.

 

“I told you we were going to destroy those,” Castiel teased smugly, joining Dean in the upstairs bathroom, and Dean laughed.

 

“That was hot as fuck, but it also scared the crap out of me, Cas. I had no idea what was going to happen,” Dean admitted, squeezing a goodly strip of toothpaste onto his brush and shoving it into his mouth.

 

Castiel stared at him, visibly upset. “I will never do anything you don’t want me to do, Dean. You have my word.”

 

Dean’s forehead crinkled in dismay, and he spat into the sink so he could speak. 

 

“I’m sorry, Cas, I didn’t mean that you would. I just… I wanted to be with you so bad I was going to do whatever you asked me to, and I had literally no idea what that was going to be.”  He smiled sheepishly and shrugged, embarrassed. “I guess I assumed gay stuff was, y’know, ass-centric.”

 

“I assure you Dean, it’s far more cock-centric,” Castiel retorted smoothly, smirking as spoke. “The prostate is merely extra credit.” 

 

Dean barked a laugh at that, but Castiel’s face grew serious again, and he spoke gravely.

 

“Dean, you must promise me, right now, that you will never pretend to want something from me that you do not. I would be devastated, Dean, utterly devastated. I could not bear it.  _ Promise me. _ ”

 

Dean’s eyes widened as he realized the gravity of his misstep, and his face registered dismay and chagrin. 

 

“I promise,” he vowed. “I swear, Cas. I didn’t mean to… I wanted to give myself to you so bad Cas, and I didn’t know what that meant or how to have it and whatever it was going to take I was ready to do it. I just…” He faltered. “I’m sorry. I promise, Cas.”

 

Castiel nodded, his eyes welling as he imagined the shape of such a horror. “If you must lie to me, Dean; when the day comes you must break my heart - “ Castiel stopped, shuddering, as Dean’s face fell even further into anguish. 

 

Castiel sucked in a long, quavering breath. 

 

“Please, just this one thing, I  _ beg _ of you, Dean, please. Never let me take something from you that you do not want to give.” 

 

Castiel’s eyes spilled over and he crumpled to his knees on the bathroom tile, his face in agony, his voice falling to a husky whisper. 

 

“ _ I would sooner die _ .”

 

Dean dropped his toothbrush into the sink with a clatter, crossing the small space to cover Castiel’s body with his own, wrap him in his arms as tightly as he could, to whisper he was sorry, to promise over and over he never, ever would lie, never pretend, not ever. 

 

“I have never lied to you, Cas, not since the day I met you,” he whispered, “I’ve never tried to play you, Cas, not  _ ever _ \- and I swear by my life, Hell I swear by Sammy’s life - and you know his means more to me than mine - that I never, ever will. I’m so sorry. I just wanted you so bad.  _ So bad, Cas _ .” 

 

As Castiel’s heaving breaths slowed and his shoulders stopped shaking, Dean risked trying to get a smile. 

 

“Even if it meant letting you wreck me with your ridiculously giant dick, I was ready to let it happen, Cas.”  

 

Castiel snorted into his shoulder, and muttered, “One of the universe’s hilarious pranks, Dean.”  

 

“Huh?”

 

Castiel pulled his tear-streaked face away from Dean’s shoulder to look him in the eye. 

 

“Size is immaterial when your dick doesn’t work, Dean. Sure, it makes a great first impression, but it really loses points when you can’t stick the landing.” 

 

Dean stared at him evenly, smiling gently, and maybe just a tiny bit smugly. 

 

“It works for me.”

 

Castiel stared back, wide-eyed, the enormity of the realization finally sinking all the way in. 

 

“Holy mother of Jesus, it  _ does _ .  _ It works for you! _ ” 

 

Castiel’s face broke into a delighted smile, sunshine after heavy clouds. 

 

“Because you’re into me,” Dean added solemnly, smiling back.

 

“Because I’m into you,” Castiel repeated, nodding seriously. “This has never happened for me before, Dean, not with anyone, not ever.”

 

“Is it selfish that that makes me incredibly happy?” Dean asked, grinning smugly.

 

“Yes, terribly selfish,” Castiel answered firmly, grinning to soften the blow, “but  _ you  _ make me incredibly happy, so I’ll allow it.”

 

They stared at each other, smiling in mutual delight, until Dean dove forward to kiss Cas, aggressively taking this time, climbing on top of him, pressing Castiel’s back against the ancient clawfoot tub, and possessing his mouth for all he was worth. 

 

Castiel yielded without a fight, kissing back as good as he got but letting Dean take the lead until Dean’s stomach growled audibly and he broke off the kiss, laughing. Castiel smiled back affectionately. 

 

“You may take me whenever you like, Dean, but shall we shower and eat first?”

 

“God yes,” Dean groaned, “I’m starving.” 

 

Dean hopped up to resume brushing his teeth, ignoring his erection, and Castiel hopped into the tub, ignoring his as well, to shower rapidly but thoroughly, trading places with Dean so he could shave and brush his teeth while Dean caught the last of the hot water, yelping as it ran cold.

 

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Castiel sighed as Dean reached for his towel, shivering.

 

“Buy one of those instant-hot-water tanks Cas,” Dean declared, “and I’ll install it.”

 

“Really?” Castiel asked, pausing mid-stroke with his razor held aloft, delighted.

 

“Yes, really. I want to shower  _ with _ you, Cas. This sucks,” Dean confirmed, toweling himself dry.

 

“Okay, I’ll research those this week,” Castiel agreed enthusiastically, returning to hacking back his impressive day’s worth of stubble.  “Are you going to shave?”

 

“Nope.” Dean smirked at Castiel. “I don’t grow a full beard overnight, Cas.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll thank me later,” Cas retorted playfully. “Now go make me breakfast, you baby-faced whippersnapper.”

 

Dean lost his shit, spitting himself and giggling. 

 

“Sure thing, _ Daddy, _ ” he retorted, bolting out the door and back to the bedroom before Cas could snap him with his towel.

  
  


***

  
  


“I can do us an omelette with, what is this, looks like moo shu pork without the pork?” 

 

Dean’s head was buried in the refrigerator, poking around in Castiel’s leftovers, as Castiel wiped down the kitchen table, something, to his shame, he hadn’t done in weeks.

 

“Yes, that’s vegetarian moo shu, Dean,” Castiel confirmed, coming over to look over his shoulder. 

 

Dean handed out a dozen eggs for Cas to set on the counter, poking around in the never-unpacked grocery bags still stuffed in the fridge from a week ago. He pulled one out, wrinkling his nose.

 

“This chicken is way past gone, and the beef is definitely sketchy.”

 

Castiel accepted the bag guiltily and dropped it straight into the garbage. “Chicken soup and tacos,” he said softly.

 

Dean looked up at him from where he was bent over poking around in the crisper drawer, his face apologetic. “I’m sorry, Cas, I know it was a dick move not to answer your texts.” He stood up, took a deep breath, and confessed. 

 

“I never had the flu, Cas, I... I gave myself alcohol poisoning trying to get over you, uh, rejecting me.”

 

Castiel stared at Dean in consternation, his brow knitted in horror. 

 

“I’m so sorry, Dean. I didn’t mean to reject you, it was a complete accident - you were looking up at me and I wanted you so badly I imagined - “ Castiel flushed, embarrassed, and continued with difficulty, “- I imagined you looked like you wanted to be kissed - and… I got an erection and - “ 

 

Dean gasped, astonished, and Castiel nodded, his face pained at the memory.

 

“- and I ran away before you could see it. I thought our friendship would be over if you knew how I felt, Dean. I didn’t realize I had accidentally rejected a real advance until I saw you at the bar Friday night.”

 

Dean’s eyes were the size of Baby’s hubcaps as he absorbed this new information. 

 

“Holy Shit, Cas, I  _ did _ want you to kiss me and I  _ knew  _ you felt it. I thought you were horrified by  _ me _ . I thought I must not be your type after all, and that I had ruined everything.”

 

Castiel stared at Dean, aghast with astonishment. 

 

“Not my  _ type _ ? Dean, imagine how much I hated myself that Sunday night to find out you’d been in the hospital while I masturbated thinking about you.”

 

Dean’s bashfully pleased smile was not what Castiel had anticipated. 

 

“I was mortified, Dean!” he protested. “I literally cried myself to sleep!”

 

Dean crossed the kitchen to wrap Castiel in his arms, pressing his forehead to Castiel’s despite his indignant sputtering. 

 

“I’m not smiling because you were hurting, Cas. I’m smiling because it’s such a relief to hear, because I’ve been so ashamed. I’ve been thinking about you in the shower for  _ months _ .”

 

It was Castiel’s turn to be helpless to stop the shy, delighted smile spreading across his face. 

 

“Really?”

 

“You’re all I think about anymore,” Dean whispered. “See? Feels better, doesn’t it?”

 

Castiel nodded, astounded at the huge weight lifted from his shoulders. 

 

“Jesus, it really does.”

 

Dean grinned, releasing Castiel and turning around to root around in the cabinet with the mixing bowls. 

 

“Could you grab butter and a pan, Cas? My stomach is eating itself.”

 

“Of course, Dean.”

 

They fell to preparing a dozen-egg omelette with moo shu vegetables inside, Castiel winning the argument against combining cheese with Chinese food, but unable to stop Dean from squirting a giant dollop of ketchup on one of the plates. 

 

“Hey, this is mine!” Dean exclaimed, and Castiel nodded. 

 

“Yes, from the meatloaf.”

 

Dean looked a little ill at the memory. 

 

“Oh yeah. The meatloaf. I threw that up on the street.”

 

Castiel shook his head, his face apologetic but his eyes twinkling. 

 

“Was it as good the second time?”

 

“Better.”

 

“Revolting.”

 

“The wine pairing was way more awesome the second time.”

 

“That, I believe.” Castiel deadpanned, and Dean snorted.

 

Castiel grabbed his plate and a fork from the counter, motioned towards the living room with a question on his face, but Dean shook his head with an involuntary shudder so Castiel set his plate down at the kitchen table and Dean joined him. They ate ravenously, given that it was mid-afternoon. Castiel was lost in thought for the duration of the meal.

 

As they cleaned up and shoved the plates in the dishwasher, Castiel was still thinking about something, and as he wiped the table down, his face said he had solved it. He shoved the kitchen table over a foot or two, moved the chairs, opened the front door wide as Dean watched him, baffled, then he turned to Dean.

 

“Come on, Dean, I need you to help me with something.”

 

“Okaaay…’”

 

Castiel crossed into the living room and Dean reluctantly followed him, frowning unconsciously at the couch where his heart had been broken.

 

“Grab one end, would you?” Castiel instructed, crossing to pick up one end of his couch.

 

“What, why?”

 

“Because I can’t lift this by myself.”

 

“You know what I mean,” Dean grumped, steeling himself to touch the distasteful thing and heft it with his knees; not his back. It weighed a metric ton, but they lifted it easily.

 

“Because,” Castiel grunted, as he led Dean through the kitchen, out the front door where they had to tilt and maneuver to get it through, down the front steps into the hot sun, and out to the curb. He motioned for Dean to set it down with a tilt of his head and they deposited it on the grass between the curb and the sidewalk.

 

“Because you hate it now, Dean,” Castiel explained, frowning down at the offending furniture, “and I completely understand why.”

 

Dean gaped at Castiel, his face registering surprise and a touch of shame. 

 

“You don’t have to do that for me, Cas, I’ll get over it -”

 

“You will never have to,” Castiel answered firmly. “I failed you on this couch, Dean. We will pick out a new couch and when it is delivered I will kiss you on it until you are delirious with desire and when you beg me and  _ only _ when you beg me, I will fuck you over it.”

 

Dean gasped as his knees almost buckled and his breath hitched. He looked around to see if anyone might have overheard but they were alone on the street. 

 

“That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me,” he said. His smile tried for insouciant, but the slight tremor in his voice was completely sincere.

 

“Shut up and get in the house,” Castiel growled. “I want you inside me  _ right now _ , and I do not wish to be arrested.”

 

Dean had never moved faster in his entire life.

 

 


	63. Show Me

The door hadn’t latched behind Castiel before Dean was turning on him, crowding Cas against the door, his arms grasping Castiel’s wrists where they fell at his sides in surprise and lifting them to cross over his head. Dean’s superior height gave him leverage to really lean into Cas as he turned his head sideways and pressed his lips to Castiel’s jaw just behind his ear, licking and sucking and biting, the pressure of his knee inexorably parting Castiel’s thighs until Dean’s erection ground against Cas’s hip, Castiel’s against Dean’s thigh.

 

Castiel’s surprise and his behavior the night before did not translate to any sort of struggle now; instead he yielded readily, moaning at Dean’s lips and tongue and hot breath on his neck and gasping as Dean’s thigh ground into his cock, arching his back and straining against Dean’s pinning arms only enough to revel in the strength of them, moaning as Dean paused to wolf grin down at him and push a little harder on his wrists. 

 

Castiel melted, staring up at Dean with eyes dark with longing. When his lips parted Dean’s eyes darted to his mouth, and when Castiel’s eyes dropped to Dean’s mouth in return Dean swallowed nervously, his pulse racing. 

 

“You may take anything at all you want from me, Dean,”  Castiel whispered. “There is nothing I will not give you.”

 

Dean’s breath hitched and he stared at Castiel’s mouth, his eyes wide and unblinking. He leaned down to push his tongue into Castiel’s mouth, to lick his teeth and bite at his lips and growl his frustration before muttering, “I don’t even know what to ask for, Cas.”

 

“Start with the things you know you’ve liked with other lovers, Dean, and I’ll teach you everything I’ve ever learned after that.” 

 

Castiel was earnest, his face open and sincere, no hint of jealousy for the past on his countenance. He stared up at Dean with complete devotion, his lips parted with want but his eyes soft, and Dean’s heart ached with tenderness and affection in a way he had no experience with, no ability nor desire to defend against.

 

“What do  _ you _ like Cas?” Dean asked gently, releasing Castiel’s wrists momentarily so he could run his hands down Castiel’s sides, cup his ass cheeks in both hands and pull Castiel’s hips against his own, rocking his thigh against Cas’s cock as he did so. Castiel groaned, his eyelashes fluttering and his eyes rolling back in his head as he hissed a breath, shuddering.

 

“I don't know, Dean. I’ve never really liked anything anyone did to me before, but everything you do feels fantastic.” 

 

Dean took Castiel’s wrists in his hands again, pinned them behind his back this time to hold Cas fast with just his right hand - a grip Castiel could easily have defeated if he had any wish to try - and scraped Castiel’s nipple through his shirt with the thumbnail of his other hand, his palm splayed flat across Cas’s chest, the crush of his arms an intoxicating embrace. Castiel’s breath heaved through his parted lips in gasps as Dean delicately took his earlobe between his teeth, still grinding his thigh in slow pulses. He nibbled until Castiel moaned and writhed, releasing only to whisper over the moistened flesh into Castiel’s ear. 

 

“When you got to decide how to be taken, what was your go-to Cas?”

 

“Hard and fast,” Castiel sighed, “without regard for my pleasure. That request forestalled my inevitable awkward embarrassment, and I suppose I liked feeling desired; watching them lose control. And fast usually meant it didn’t hurt as much.”

 

Dean’s chest hurt and his eyes stung to hear Castiel’s answer, but he hid his face in the crook of Cas’s neck, licking and biting while Castiel purred and bared his neck for more until he trusted his voice to speak again.

 

“And when you fantasized about me? What did you think about?”

 

Castiel gasped, mortified. Dean lifted his head to watch the flush that crept up Castiel’s cheeks, pleased. He put a little more pressure on Castiel’s arms where they were pinned behind his back, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. 

 

“You said anything I wanted, Cas,” he growled, and Castiel moaned and arched his back involuntarily, gasping as the flush crept up his chest as well. 

 

Castiel looked down at Dean’s lips, unable to meet his eyes, utterly embarrassed; whispered haltingly, “The… the first time I imagined kissing you, and… and taking you in my mouth like… like I did in the car.”

 

Dean waited, silent, until Castiel could meet his eyes. He smiled approvingly, moved his hand to cup Castiel’s cheek, an intimate gesture that also held his face so he could not look away, and asked pointedly, slooowly grinding his thigh into Castiel’s straining erection,  “And the next time?”

 

Castiel shut his eyes, simultaneously trapped and mortified and more aroused than he had ever been in his life. Dean twisted his arms slightly painfully and Castiel’s eyes flew open; wide but unafraid. He stared at the hunger on Dean’s face and felt himself tip dangerously close to orgasm. 

 

Castiel had never in his life come in his pants and he was astonished, his breath coming as vocalizations, warning, “ah aH AHH” noises that Dean swallowed from his lips, freezing his thigh at the warning so as not to tip Castiel over that precipice quite yet.  

 

Castiel’s inevitability ebbed and he took a deep breath, nodded. 

 

“The second time…” He faltered, and Dean waited, staring at his mouth until his lips moved to whisper, “The second time I… I thought about putting my cock in your mouth.”  

 

Castiel shut his eyes and swallowed, his face crimson, the shame of what he had done while Dean was in the hospital overwhelming.

 

Dean moved his hand from Castiel’s jaw to stroke Castiel’s cock through his jeans, easing his own thigh back far enough to make room. He pressed his lips to Castiel’s neck just under his ear again, sucking and licking until Castiel gasped and his knees threatened to buckle, his breath coming hard and fast. 

 

“Show me,” Dean growled.

 

“What?” Castiel’s eyes flared wide in surprise, his voice trembling.

 

Dean released Castiel from captivity and dropped to his knees in front of him on the kitchen tile. 

 

“You said  _ anything I want, _ Cas. Show me.”

 

“But - “ 

 

“ _ Show me _ .” 

 

Dean’s voice brooked no argument, his eyes dark as he looked up at Castiel through his long lashes, his lips parting as he licked his lips nervously and his pulse - which Castiel could not see - racing with the rising adrenaline in his blood. 

 

Castiel could not tear his eyes from Dean’s mouth. He undid his belt by feel with trembling fingers. His fingers were shaking too hard to manage to grasp his zipper pull and the third time his hand slipped Dean impatiently reached up to help, unzipping him smoothly then moving his hands to rest on his own thighs, waiting. 

 

Castiel pushed his jeans and boxer briefs down with shaking hands, his cock heavy and leaking. He tore his eyes from Dean’s mouth to look at his eyes again to make sure this was still okay, and Dean nodded, licked his lips and leaned forward a little to show willing. 

 

Castiel took a deep, shaking breath, and offered his cock to Dean’s parted lips the way he had in his fantasy, leaning forward to guide his cock into Dean’s mouth with one hand, his other hand coming up to caress Dean’s cheek, then to gently hold the back of his head, his motions slow, dazed, like he was dreaming. Castiel could not believe this was happening; it defied all possibility.

 

Dean opened his mouth to accept Castiel’s cock, his eyes fixed on Castiel’s face, his fear ebbing and his chest tightening as he watched Castiel’s hands tremble and the complete incredulity on his face. He could do this. He knew what he liked, and the thought of Castiel imagining this alone - crying himself to sleep after out of shame - fuuuuuck, it hurt so much to think about. He wanted to fix that memory, make it happen for real and give Cas something worth remembering. 

 

Dean took a deep breath through his nose, flattened his tongue, slid his mouth forward and down slowly, deliberately, running his hands up the sides of Castiel’s thighs and gripping his ass, pulling Cas forward as he took as much as he could without choking, undulating his tongue a little as he willed himself not to gag; started the long slide back up as slow as he could, his eyes never leaving Castiel’s face.

 

Castiel stared at his cock slipping between Dean’s lips without believing it was happening. He must be dreaming, there was no way Dean was ready to - he was abruptly yanked out of his reverie by the intense rush of pleasure that filled his entire awareness, pushing everything else out of his mind but the heat,  _ the heat _ , the soft, wet slide… He’d politely let dozens of men put their mouths on him and waited for them to tire, it had never  _ once _ felt like this - 

 

Castiel stared at Dean’s face in disbelief, tension spiraling low in his gut as Dean’s hands ran up his thighs and grabbed his ass and his tongue did something that pulled the tension taut and as Dean began his slow upstroke Castiel could feel his climax threatening -  _ impossible, Dean had barely _ \- Castiel cried out in warning and tried to pull out as he couldn’t seem to stop himself cresting, it would be too much to come in his mouth, surely - but Dean’s arms were a vice holding him fast and Dean’s lips were gliding back down over his cock in that slow, inexorable slide and he was doing that thing with his tongue and staring at Cas through his eyelashes, his eyelids fluttering, his pupils wide and black. 

 

Castiel had a half second’s white-hot realization that Dean was  _ enjoying himself  _ before he was lost, drowning in wave after wave of pleasure that crashed over him, pulling him under, buckling his knees and stealing his reason as he fell. 

 

As Dean watched Castiel’s incredulity shift into naked astonishment at how good this felt, then disbelief that he was going to lose it  _ right the fuck now _ , he found himself both insanely turned on and simultaneously realized he hadn’t really thought this through all the way to the end. Castiel’s obvious fear he wasn’t ready to handle jizz made up his mind for him and he doubled down, locking Cas in his mouth with his deathgrip on Cas’s ass, and sucking him back down to make it easier to swallow, which he was surprised to find both easier to do than he had anticipated, and surprisingly intimate - feeling Cas pulse in his mouth felt personal and made him feel powerful even though he hadn’t thought of giving head as a power position - but he had no time to process any of that because Cas was literally falling, his knees buckling, and Dean had to swallow fast and catch a solid wall of man, lower him onto his lap without harm, and cradle him in his arms, pressing kisses to his face, to his neck and jaw and ear and finally his mouth, Castiel’s mouth opening to suck on his tongue eagerly, the slightly bitter flavor of his own ejaculate an incredibly hot thing to taste from Dean’s mouth.

 

Dean’s kisses were hungry, and as Castiel drifted back down, kissing back gladly but without feeling any heat, his mind drifted to a realization of how Dean must have felt in the car. The guilt for forgetting to please him made sense now - he’d never been in that position before - and he sat up guiltily. 

 

“What would you like me to do for you, Dean?”

 

“Dealer’s choice.” Dean was smiling down at him affectionately. “Only when you’re ready, Cas.”  Castiel could feel Dean’s erection pressing against his ass where he was cradled in Dean’s arms.

 

“I’m ready, but we have to go upstairs because I want you to fuck me.”

 

Dean’s eyes were very bright. 

 

“Pull up your pants first, or you’ll trip.”

 

Castiel snorted, and he wriggled out of Dean’s lap to pull up his pants and head upstairs with Dean in tow.  He glared at the bed they hadn’t made yet, grabbed a condom and lube and handed them to Dean, grabbed the box of wet wipes and led Dean down the hall to the guest room.

 

“The guest bed is made,” he answered Dean’s unspoken inquiry. “We can ruin these sheets too.”

 

Dean snorted, pulling off his shirt and reaching for Castiel’s but Cas was already naked and pulling back the comforter on the bed, so Dean stripped too, turning to cage Cas in his arms, shove his tongue in his mouth for a moment and then push him onto his back on the bed.

 

Castiel moaned in delight, heat shivering through him even though his cock was entirely spent. He watched Dean crawl up his body, licking and biting and sucking his way up to his mouth to bite and lick and push his tongue in as far as he could while Cas gasped and sucked on his tongue in return. 

 

“Do you need me to start with a couple fingers or something?” Dean asked, uncertain, and Cas shook his head. 

 

“I’ve been fucking myself on a fairly sizeable toy all week, Dean, so if it had just been that, I’d be good to go, but… let’s just say that unlike you, it didn’t fuck back. I am admittedly... tender.”

 

Castiel smiled up at Dean, shaking his head to dismiss Dean’s concern. “I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me  _ too _ much,“ he grinned, “but I need you to go slow and easy, if you can.”

 

Dean stared at Castiel unblinkingly, thinking - but not saying - “Anything but hard and fast without regard for your pleasure.” 

 

“I can do that, Cas,” was what he actually said, ripping open a foil packet to roll the latex over his cock, slathering himself with lube, reaching down between Castiel’s legs to rub some lube there too. By feel, because his mouth was busy licking and gnawing on Castiel’s obliques where they curved down towards his groin. 

 

Castiel groaned and hissed and arched his back, and Dean looked up from nibbling to check his face. 

 

“Are you sure you’re not too sore?”

 

“I  _ am _ sore, Dean, but I want to feel you climax inside me and I feel like I may weep and I’m warning you now so you don’t stop if I do, because I don’t want you to stop.” 

 

Castiel’s eyes were already welling with tears and Dean stared at him, aroused beyond reason, worried, and helpless to deny this man what he was asking.

 

Dean swarmed over Cas, lifting Castiel’s thighs over his shoulders, grasping Cas’s right hand with his left and intertwining their fingers, leaning his forearm on Castiel’s arm on the bed so he was pinning his arm down. Dean’s right hand guided his slick cock to Castiel’s hole, nudging gently and wincing as Castiel hissed and arched his back. 

 

“ _ Please, _ ” Castiel whispered, and Dean nodded and pushed, slow, so slow, pausing at every hiss until it became a moan and then pushing just a little more, Castiel’s eyelids fluttering, his breath coming slow and deep, his face staring up at Dean like a prayer.

 

An eternity later Dean’s hips finally came to rest against Castiel’s ass, and he groaned in pleasure, the excruciatingly slow press into Castiel’s scorching heat one of the most difficult exercises in patience he had ever accomplished. He grinned down at Castiel in triumph, wiped his hand on the sheet below him, and reached out for Castiel’s other hand. They twined their fingers together and Dean pressed that arm to the mattress too, pinning Castiel in every conceivable way before bearing down on Castiel’s forearms with his weight and leaning down to offer Cas his tongue.

 

Castiel opened his mouth to accept as much tongue as Dean could give him, his eyes welling in earnest to have Dean like this, inside him in every possible way, his pain a willing sacrifice on the altar of his desire. He bucked his hips once, suppressing his own hiss to hear Dean’s very different hiss, and waited for Dean to take his pleasure. 

 

Dean was startled by how good it felt to have Cas buck against him, and he hissed, his banked desire flaring bright and hot. He did not miss Castiel’s slight wince and the way he tried to hide it. He willed his urge to thrust hard and fast to pass, and pressing his weight down onto Castiel’s arms for leverage, he cut off the kiss so he could watch Castiel’s face carefully while he pulled his hips slooowly out and then pressed slooowly back in.

 

Castiel stared up at Dean, his face completely open, rippling with desire and pain and a desperate yearning laced with fear. Staring down at him Dean finally understood, chills rippling up his arms and down his bare back. Dean had watched every kind of legal porn there was at least once, and some very specific kinds many,  _ many _ more times after that, but he had never in his wettest dreams imagined his secret guilty pleasures would teach him skills he would use in  _ real life _ . 

 

Castiel’s surrender and his pain were a  _ gift _ , something he desperately wanted Dean to accept and to cherish, but either did not know how or was too ashamed to ask for. Dean had to shut his eyes for a moment against the enormity of what was passing between them, and then he knew what to do.

 

“You know dozens of ways to make me come, Cas,”  Dean remarked conversationally, “but I can’t help but notice you’ve chosen the only one that will hurt you.”

 

Castiel’s eyes flared wide, his sharp intake of breath at being called out telling Dean all he needed to know.

 

Dean pulled out a little faster, pushed back in slow and landed with just enough impact to draw a hiss from Castiel despite his effort to hide it. Dean groaned in pleasure and squeezed Castiel’s fingers between his where Cas was pinned to the bed.

 

“You’re hiding when it hurts. Stop that right now or I’ll stop fucking you,” Dean growled, staring down at Cas with his eyes half-lidded.

 

“I don’t want you to stop,” Cas whispered, his eyes welling with fresh tears.

 

“I’ll keep going, but I have conditions, Cas.” Dean promised. “First, you gotta show me your pain, all of it, don’t hide anything. I want to see it all. Promise me.”  

 

Castiel nodded wordlessly, his eyes enormous.

 

“Okay. Second, if at any point it hurts in a way that you know is causing real damage, hospital style - not sore for a couple days - damage, even if you don’t want me to stop, you will say ‘Impala,’” he instructed. “Promise me right now.”

 

Castiel was mesmerized. “I promise,” he vowed.

 

“Say it once now,” Dean insisted.

 

“ _ Impala _ ,” Castiel whispered.

 

Dean nodded, satisfied, then his face turned wicked. “One more thing,” he groaned, sliding out reaaaal slow and then slamming home to nod his approval when Cas moaned and winced without trying to hide it. “I can’t come like this without hurting you, Cas, and I can’t get off on hurting you unless I know it’s what you want. Tell me you want me to hurt you - don’t just say what I want to hear, either, you have to mean it - or I’ll stop.”

 

Castiel gasped, a spark of pleasure coiling unexpectedly along his cock, the soreness where Dean was penetrating him burning, burning, but now the heat pulsed and tingled too, the pain crackling and sparking with Dean’s words. He could not even begin to guess how many times he had invited men to get rough with him, implicitly with a judiciously applied moan or the position of his body, explicitly when they didn’t take the hint; desperately searching for some sort of connection, and for the sensation he could watch them experience but could not find anywhere but by his own hand. Given the opportunity, no one had ever stopped without coming, not once.  _ Could Dean be serious? _

 

Dean waited a beat, pulled almost completely out, waited another beat while Castiel stared up at him, the requested words impossibly difficult to say out loud.  _ Not to Dean, the only man on earth whose opinion of him mattered. _

 

“I’m deadly serious, Cas,” Dean answered the unspoken skepticism on Castiel’s face. “Tell me, right now, that you want the pain this will cause you or I’ll pull out, and I’ll make you watch me jack myself off - without letting you help - instead of coming inside you.”

 

“ _ No! _ ” Castiel’s wail of anguish at the threat made Dean smile, lift his eyebrows at Castiel’s continued noncompliance. He released Castiel’s left hand, wrapped his hand around the base of his own cock, squeezed and groaned at the new stimulation. 

 

“Last chance, Cas.”

 

Castiel sucked in a deep breath and forced himself to meet Dean’s eyes.

 

 “I… I want you to hurt me, Dean,” he confessed, his face burning with the shame of it, his skin crawling with the embarrassment of admitting he wanted such a thing, out loud, to  _ Dean _ . 

 

To Castiel’s infinite relief, Dean’s face showed no judgement at his admission, no pity or reproach, only keen interest and eagerness as Dean nodded his satisfaction and reached for Castiel’s hand again, pinned it above his head against the comforter, and slammed into Cas just a little harder, watching his face. Cas moaned as Dean landed, the burning pulsing as pleasure now, his cock starting to swell again in earnest. Dean groaned, fighting back his impending orgasm he could feel gathering momentum.

 

“That felt really good,” Dean growled, “even though I know it hurt you.”

 

Castiel gasped, his cock twitching against Dean’s stomach, and Dean grinned at him ferally. 

 

“It’s not just the pain you want, is it Cas?“ Dean observed, watching Castiel’s every reaction, his eyes wide and dark. “You want me to  _ enjoy  _ hurting you, don’t you, Cas.” He pulled out slow and slammed in again a little harder this time, groaning his pleasure, and Cas straight up whimpered, his entire body crackling and burning and now it all just felt fantastic, every sensation directly feeding the delicious tension building in his loins, Dean’s grin at his moans igniting every nerve ending in his body, stealing his breath, filling his entire awareness with euphoria. 

 

Castiel wanted more of everything, and his eyes fluttered shut as he moaned and writhed against Dean’s hands, struggling enough that Dean had to tense and lean down with all his weight to hold him captive, tears of relief and pleasure leaking past Castiel’s eyelids to find himself unable to break free.

 

“I’m going to hurt you good now, Sweetheart,” Dean growled, “Hang on tight.”

 

Castiel’s eyes flew open as Dean’s words landed, his exhilarated gasp a balm to Dean’s very core. Dean leaned down to bite Castiel’s bottom lip until he cried out, then he lifted his head to watch Castiel’s face, slamming his cock into Cas to land with a solid impact, pull out and do it again, groaning as his pleasure mounted. 

 

Castiel lost himself in the sensation, his eyes fixed on Dean’s face in worship as Dean fucked him relentlessly, reveling in Castiel’s moans of pain and pleasure as they became indistinguishable, whispering filthy encouragement, punctuating his litany with every thrust.  

 

“That’s _right_ Cas, it feels so _fucking_ \- _good_ \- _slamming_ \- my _cock_ into you, does that _hurt_ Sweetheart? _Good_. You _want_ it to _hurt_ and I will _always_ \- _give_ you _what_ you _want_. I can _feel_ that you _like_ it, I can _feel_ your _cock -_ _twitch_ \- _every - time_ \- I _slam_ into that _ass_ I - _wrecked -_ _yesterday_. You _like_ that Cas, I can _tell_ that you _want_ it.” 

 

Dean's voice dropped to an almost inaudible growl, his breath hissing between his teeth.

 

“Now  _ I _ like it _ too _ .” 

 

Dean’s lips and tongue traveled down the column of Castiel’s neck to sink his teeth into Castiel’s shoulder as he adjusted his pinning grip to free a hand so he could reach down, cruelly pinch Castiel’s nipple, and twist.

 

Castiel howled and bucked, his body convulsing under Dean’s unyielding grip as the avalanche of sensation and Dean’s filthy incitement tore a second orgasm from him, intense and completely overwhelming. Dean lifted his head from biting Castiel’s neck to watch his face as he came, crying out as he followed Castiel over the edge he’d been fighting since they started. 

 

Dean groaned and shuddered as Castiel’s orgasm rippled searing pulses of heat and pressure around his cock, ripping his pleasure from him in a cascade of exquisite sparks, riding the crest of Castiel’s tidal wave, but somehow never once taking his eyes from Castiel’s face. 

 

Castiel felt like he was dreaming, his eyes tightly shut, his body pinned under Dean’s weight.  He felt immensely content and also painfully abraded, and while it was a relief to feel Dean slip out of him, it stung too, literally and in his chest. Castiel hissed and winced as he lowered his thighs to the bed and Dean whispered his apologies, releasing Castiel’s wrists to caress his cheek and run fingers softly through Castiel’s hair, leaning down to press soft kisses to his neck over the marks of his teeth, then over the shell of Castiel’s ear and across his still smooth cheek and finally to graze chaste kisses across his parted lips.

 

Castiel leaned into Dean’s caresses and kisses, answering with soft sighs and tears slipping out from under his tightly closed eyelids. Dean kissed those too, tasting the salt on his tongue and whispering, “Are you doing okay Cas?”

 

Castiel opened his eyes as Dean cradled his face between his hands, ignoring the mess that needed taking care of between them to stare at Castiel’s face. Dean’s expression fluctuated between affection and concern, and Castiel lifted his freed arms to wrap them around Dean’s back under his arms, pull him down, and bury his face in Dean’s neck, a sudden onslaught of powerful sobs racking his body. 

 

Dean moved only enough to wrap his arms around Castiel, holding him tight and whispering softly to him, “It’s okay, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere Sweetheart, you did so great, I didn't think you were gonna be able to admit you wanted it this time but you did it, you’re so gorgeous and strong and brave Cas. Thank you for letting me hurt you, it felt _So. Fucking. Good._ _Coming inside you_.” 

 

As Dean’s comfort veered filthy, Castiel's sobs eased and he moaned against Dean’s neck and arched into him. Dean smiled against his cheek and scolded him gently, “No more, Cas. We have to clean this up and then no more for a while. I don't want to break you. I know it felt good while it was happening but no way that isn't gonna hurt for days.”

 

Castiel protested unintelligibly against his neck, and Dean laughed. 

 

“I’m not cutting you off, man, just not fucking you for a couple days. Your dick isn't broken.” 

 

Castiel’s grumbles transitioned into satisfied noises and Dean laughed again for pure joy, nuzzling Castiel's hair. He nibbled on Castiel’s earlobe a little and Cas nestled into him, purring, and they were interrupted by the sound of a landline ringing insistently downstairs.

 

Dean lifted his torso to look at Cas in bewilderment. 

 

“You have a cell phone  _ and _ a landline?”

 

Castiel nodded, looking worried. 

 

“Yes, for the DSL. But I’d have it anyway because the ancient tin ceilings in this place interfere with my cell reception, some sort of Faraday cage action I expect…” his forehead creased. “But no one has this number except work for emergencies… and Anna.”

 

Castiel struggled under Dean, worry cascading across his face, and Dean lifted himself off him, grabbed a handful of wet wipes to get cleaned up. The ringing stopped and started again while they made quick work of getting clean enough to throw on boxers, Castiel wincing as he did so, but the ringing had cut off by the time they made it to the hallway. Dean was about to ask if Cas had caller ID when the ringing started again, and Castiel made it this time, grabbing at the receiver to pant, “Hello?” breathlessly into the mouthpiece.

 

“Castiel! Finally! Is Dean with you?” It was Anna, and she sounded worried.

 

“Yes. Why, is everything alright?”

 

“Mazel tov, I want to know everything,” she breathed hurriedly, “later. Have Dean call Sam, right now please. He is calling everyone in his phone that might have seen Dean. He says his friend Alex took Dean out and he didn’t see who Dean left the bar with last night and he hasn’t heard anything since last night and he is Flipping. Out.  You didn't answer your cell so he called me in case you had a landline. Call him now, Okay?”

 

“ - Okay - “

 

“ - Good. Right now. Talk later. I love you. Congratulations, bye.”

 

Castiel put down the receiver, turned to Dean with wide eyes, but Dean was already looking for his phone. 

 

“FUCK, I didn't text Sam!”

 

“That was Anna, she said Sam’s flipping out - " 

 

“Yeah, he’s got to be worried as fuck, I was supposed to text him that I was okay, FUCK where’s my phone?”

 

They found both their phones in the bedroom, and when they got them downstairs texts rapidly started to buzz in. Castiel had several missed calls from Sam. Dean didn't even try to read his messages, just thumbed Sam’s contact entry open so he could see the number, dialed him back on the landline while Castiel stared at him in panic, forgetting to offer him privacy for the call in his concern.

 

Sam answered on the first ring, the first words out of his mouth, “Oh thank god,” followed in the same breath with, “What the FUCK, DEAN, you scared the SHIT out of me! Figured some dude had you chained up in his basement for good and I was never gonna find you!”

 

“Naw, we’re taking turns on the chains, Sammy!” Sam spluttered across the connection and Dean grinned, looking guilty as hell but still pleased with himself. “I’m super sorry I didn't check in Sam, I didn't mean to worry you. Long story but I’m at Cas’s place - “

 

“Wait, you’re with CAS?” 

 

“Yes. He saw me at the bar last night and we talked and, um,” Dean looked at Castiel, a question on his face, but Castiel just smiled at him, shrugged, and Dean continued, blushing furiously, “and, uh... then we did some other stuff and anyway it turns out he didn't mean to reject me, and uh...“ 

 

Dean was running out of words with Castiel smugly watching him blush. Castiel raised an eyebrow and reached for the phone, and Dean handed it over without argument.

 

Castiel lifted the handset to his ear and spoke gravely into the receiver. 

 

“Hello, Sam.”

 

“Cas! Hey! Is everything okay? Is Dean alright, he sounds -”

 

“Everything is better than okay, Sam,” Castiel assured him. “I am in love with your brother. I thought he was straight and that I would jeopardize our friendship if he ever found out how I felt. I saw Dean at the bar last night and when I realized that I hadn't fantasized he looked like he was making an advance two weeks ago, that it was a real advance, and that in my clumsy attempt to hide my accidental erection I had rejected the only man I have ever loved, as you might imagine, I wanted to die.”

 

Sam and Dean were both speechless, one on the other end of the line and Dean gaping at Castiel in his own living room, standing because there was no couch.

 

“I ran into a thunderstorm, weeping, with no concern for my safety and then I had a panic attack. Your brother found me and helped me through my panic attack, then he confessed that he wanted me, I confessed that I’m in love with him and that he’s the only man I’ve ever desired sexually - which now that I say it out loud makes me realize it’s highly probable those two things might be correlated for me - and in any case since then we’ve been discovering a number of fascinating things about each other and I daresay about ourselves for the last, what time is it - “ he glanced at the clock, “six o’ clock? So eighteen hours or so?” He looked to Dean for confirmation, “Does that about cover it?”

 

Dean nodded mutely, his eyes wide, and Castiel nodded and turned his attention back to the phone.

 

“Alright, I think that about covers it. I’d love to keep your brother for one more night, Sam, if I may, before I reluctantly let him come home to you and then pine every moment until I can see him again. We could do dinner tomorrow, discuss our shared custody arrangements...?“ 

 

Castiel kept a straight face, but his eyes were twinkling, and he could hear Sam giggling on the other end as they both listened to Dean splutter indignantly.

 

“Dinner tomorrow sounds great, Cas,” Sam agreed easily. “I’m super happy for you two. Seriously. I mean, I wanna slap Dean upside the head for worrying me so badly, but I didn't know if I was ever going to see him happy again after he thought you shot him down. I’m really glad you two worked it out.”

 

“Thank you Sam,” Castiel murmured, smiling softly. “I’m really glad too. Here’s Dean again.”

 

Castiel handed the phone back to Dean and left him alone to say his goodbyes, wandering into the kitchen to part the curtains and see if the couch was gone. It was. He was still looking out the window when strong arms wrapped around him from behind, Dean's body slotted against his, and he leaned into the contact, sighing.

 

“Did you mean what you said to Sam?” Dean asked quietly, his voice husky. His breath tickled across Castiel’s ear and Castiel shivered as goosebumps raced down his neck and across his back, bare except where Dean’s body was pressed against his.

 

“Which part? Of course I was teasing about the custody...“

 

Dean swallowed and his voice cracked as he whispered. 

 

“The part… the part where I’m the only man you’ve ever loved.”

 

Castiel turned in Dean's arms so he could look Dean in the eye before answering. He stared up at Dean in worship the way he had done only minutes before when Dean had been possessing him with more than just the circle of his arms.  

 

“Yes, Dean. I meant that with everything that I am and everything I will ever be. I have never felt this way about anyone else, and further, I never will.”

 

Dean’s features registered confused concern, and Castiel answered the question on his face by elaborating softly. 

 

“I am yours, Dean. For as long as you will have me I will give myself to you freely and to no other, and when you tire of me, I will not love again. It is too difficult. It costs too much.” 

 

Castiel looked up at Dean’s anguished face and his forehead creased in concern. 

 

“I’m sorry, I’m not trying to upset you, Dean, I’m just being honest. You have already given me more happiness in this last year than in all the ones that came before, combined. Every moment I have spent with you has been exquisite and I will treasure them all, always. Come what may, I will be grateful for the time you shared with me.” 

 

Castiel's eyes glimmered and he looked away as he continued in a low voice, “You are so young, and you are so beautiful. You have your whole life ahead of you and you aren’t broken like I am, Dean, you can have anyone you want, and I hold no illusions - ”

 

Dean cut him off with an anguished cry, kissing his mouth to stop him talking, his eyes spilling over as he took Castiel’s face in his hands, sobbing into Castiel’s mouth as he clung to him desperately, kissing him for all he was worth. 

 

Castiel tried to soothe him, petting his back and kissing his mouth until Dean stopped kissing him to look Castiel in the eye, making no attempt to wipe the tears from his face. He just held Castiel’s face in his hands and tried to form words, his voice unsteady.

 

“I… I want  _ you  _ Cas,” he tried, and Castiel answered steadily, “I want you too, Dean.”

 

Dean tried again. “I’m not… I’m not  _ good _ at words Cas, but… but  I literally almost died when I thought I couldn’t be with you. I scared the shit out of Sam - “

 

Castiel’s eyes widened as he interjected, “Wait, you were really in the hospital? I thought you lied about the flu -”

 

“Yes. A coma for a bit I guess, but I’m fine now - “   
  


“ _ A coma _ ?” Castiel’s eyes were wide in horror. 

 

“Yes, I told you, I gave myself alcohol poisoning, and the point I’m trying to make - “

 

Castiel couldn’t get past the coma part, the idea that his rejection had almost cost Dean’s  _ life _ overwhelming, and he sank to his knees, his dead weight pulling Dean with him, wrapping his arms around Castiel as he knelt on the cold kitchen tile and hyperventilated, trying to pull himself back from the edge of panic. 

 

Dean’s presence and tight embrace helped, and Castiel managed to calm down with slow breathing, finally looking at Dean’s face and apologizing.

 

“I’m sorry Dean. I’m listening now, what were you trying to say?”

 

Dean stared at him in consternation, and Castiel apologized again. 

 

“I’m sorry I selfishly derailed your conversation Dean, I just hadn’t realized how close I came to losing you for good, and... I guess it literally brought me to my knees.”

 

Dean took a deep breath and blew it out. 

 

“That’s what I’m trying to explain to you, Cas. I already thought I lost you once - I was  _ so sure _ you loved me back that it almost killed me to find out you didn’t. If you think I’m ever letting you go now that I find out you do, think again.”

 

Castiel stared at Dean, parsing the sentence carefully in his mind, turning it over and over and coming to rest on a certain phrase he couldn’t quite believe he had heard.

 

He finally whispered the words, his voice shaking, as he stared at Dean in a mixture of disbelief and desperate hope.

 

“Loved... you...  _ back _ ?”

 

Dean nodded, his face agitated, the words so impossibly difficult for him to say.

 

“Do you... do you _ love me _ , Dean?” Castiel whispered, staring at Dean’s face, his eyes impossibly wide. Dean nodded, but as he struggled to speak no words came. 

 

Castiel’s shoulders slumped as he backpedaled, adding, “Anna told me she loved me today, and of course I love her too, just as friends should love each other.” 

 

“It’s alright Dean, I didn’t mean to corner you like that, I apologize. I understand I’m different and I don’t have experience with what is correct to say or do when I feel this way but I’m being unfair to you. I never meant to press you for more than you could give; I am more than grateful for everything you have already given me.” 

 

Castiel turned his face away from Dean, biting his lip and making motions to get up, but Dean shouted, “No!” and clutched at Castiel’s hands, catching them in his and trying to catch his eye.  

 

Castiel wouldn’t look him in the eye and Dean finally begged, his voice cracking, “ _ Please _ look at me, Cas,” only to have his chest ache when Castiel did look at him, tears in his eyes but no anger, no hope, just soft fondness and defeat.

 

“What is it, Dean?”

 

Dean took a deep breath and blew it out. 

 

“I love you, Cas,” he said, the words tripping over his tongue with difficulty.

 

“I love you too, Dean.” Castiel stared at him evenly, quizzically. Dean’s words did not have the impact he was hoping for; Castiel’s shoulders remained slumped and Cas still seemed reluctant to look at him, ready to pull away and go shower.

 

Dean took another breath and tried again, shaking his head gently.

 

“Not just friendship love, Cas. Not like I love Sam or Bobby or Alex or anyone else I care about, and not like anyone I’ve ever been with before. Nothing has  _ ever  _ felt like this.” 

 

“You aren’t broken, Cas, you were just waiting for me.” 

 

Dean squeezed Castiel’s hands in both of his and looked him in the eye, formed the words, and said them out loud. 

 

“Castiel Novak, _ I am in love with you. _ I don’t even care about the sex, Cas - I mean it’s fantastic don’t get me wrong - but I’m just - I’m just crazy about you. I just want to, like, kiss you and hold you forever and never let you go, like we did on New Years, but not just New Years, every night ever.” 

 

“I don’t even know when it started but Sam had to tell me what I was feeling because I didn’t understand, I’ve never felt anything like this before and I went insane with jealousy when Anna kissed you goodbye after the game night that time and that was when Sam had to tell me what I was feeling and - ”

 

Dean got no further because Castiel - whose hands had started to tremble, his eyes ever widening with shock the entire speech -  abruptly overcame his paralysis with a wail and Castiel’s mouth was now invading his, Castiel’s arms coming up around Dean to hold him with all of his considerable strength, climbing on top of him in his need, and Dean gave way under the onslaught, sinking to his back on the kitchen tile, his arms rubbing Castiel’s back soothingly as Castiel possessed his mouth desperately, frantically, sobbing for equal parts joy and fear he was going to wake up. 

 

He did not wake up. Dean remained solid and real underneath Castiel’s hands and mouth, his chest rising and falling, his mouth answering Castiel’s desperate kisses with reassuring soft presses of lips and tongue and teeth and panting breath, the scrape of Dean’s stubble against his jaw real and grounding, the heat of his body a burning contrast to the kitchen tile, cold and hard under his knees. 

 

Eventually, Castiel’s fear he was dreaming abated, his desperation calmed to delighted incredulity, and he kissed Dean softly, gently, over and over, on his parted lips and his cheeks and his eyelashes and his arms where they reached up to hold him and his fingertips as Dean smiled softly up at him, caressing his face, and whispering, “I’m not going anywhere, Cas. I want all of it. Everything. With you.”

 

Castiel stared down at him, his eyes soft and welling with tears, and his voice broke as he answered once more, “You may have anything at all you want from me, Dean, there is nothing I will not give you.”

 

“I want your heart.”

 

“You have it.”

 

“I want you to believe I am giving you mine.”

 

“But you are so young,” Castiel whispered, reaching down to caress Dean’s cheek, “So beautiful. You can have anyone you want, how could I ever hope to hold your interest? I believe you love me now, Dean, let that be enough.”

 

“No.” 

 

Dean shook his head, staring up at Castiel, his eyes glittering emeralds in the beams of waning sun falling across his face, patient, but insistent.

 

“I want you to believe I am giving you mine. _ I choose you _ , Cas, and I will choose you every day until you can believe me. Deal?”

 

“Deal,” Castiel whispered. Castiel kissed Dean’s hands where they now held his, and Dean groaned as he tried to sit up. 

 

“My back is numb.”

 

Castiel laughed and sprang up, pulled Dean bodily to his feet. 

 

“Come on, let’s shower - we’re disgusting - and then I’m taking you out to dinner.” 

 

“Oh yeah?” Dean asked, grinning as he rubbed circulation back into his pressure points. “What are you in the mood for?”

 

“Cheeseburgers with bacon on them, french fries, and beer,” Castiel answered firmly. 

 

The answering delight that spread across Dean’s face was worth every mile Castiel knew he’d be running next week to pay for it. 

 

 


	64. Dine and Dash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am super proud of this week's chapters.  
> I *thought* about cliffhanging after this one, and I want you to *appreciate* that I didn't. ;-) :-D

Dean stepped lightly after Castiel as he strode through the crowd of people clutching square plastic pagers into the diner. It looked like it was made from a legit railroad car and not one of those replica cars you saw all over the place. It was a fifties style car, fire-engine red, but it looked original - lovingly restored and maintained, a real glowing jukebox in the corner and all the waitstaff in fifties outfits. The place was packed, people milling in the foyer and more inside next to the hostess station, and Dean knew for a fact Castiel hadn’t called in a reservation. He watched, burning with curiosity, as Cas approached the hostess station, smiled at the very young woman standing there.

 

“Welcome to Harvelle’s Diner, do you have a reservation, sir?” she asked politely, and Castiel shook his head gravely.

 

“No miss, I do not.”

 

The girl’s face grew sympathetic but with a hint of exasperation around the edges. 

 

“I’m sorry sir, it’s at least a two hour wait then. Can I get you a pager - “

 

She fell silent as an older woman, probably in her early forties, wearing a poodle skirt and an enormous smile, swept across the diner from where she’d been tending bar to greet Castiel enthusiastically.

 

“Castiel??? I _thought_ I heard your voice, Oh my _god,_ you’re back! It’s so great to see you! God, it’s been _ages!_ ” She looked him up and down, impeccably overdressed in his tailored suit and crisp white dress shirt, the blue tie Dean had given him as a joke for Christmas making his eyes sparkle and pop, and then her glance slid over to Dean, standing uncertainly at Castiel’s elbow, strikingly gorgeous despite his much more casual leather jacket and jeans, button-down, no tie, hands in his jacket pockets. Her eyebrows rose just the tiniest fraction and she smiled at Dean with genuine delight. “No book tonight I see... and is this your young man, Castiel?”

 

Dean’s heart lurched into his throat and he could hear his pulse rushing in his ears, _ FUCK  _ he was _ SO  _ not prepared for this _ , they hadn’t talked about - _

 

“This is my  _ friend _ , Dean,” Castiel answered smoothly, “but I fear that any affection he may feel for me will be entirely forgotten once he tastes your bacon cheeseburger, Ellen. Dean, this is my friend Ellen Harvelle. Ellen, my friend Dean Winchester.”

 

Ellen beamed at Dean as she shook his hand, her grip strong and her eyes shrewd as hell. Dean smiled his most charming smile and tried to remain impassive, still shaken from wondering whether he was  _ Castiel’s young man  _ or not, but whatever Ellen might be thinking, her face was Fort Knox. She smiled at Castiel again, and leaned close to murmur “Well, we’ll catch up next time then Castiel, I don’t want to keep you, huh? But next time better be  _ soon _ .” Castiel smiled and nodded, murmured, “I promise.” 

 

Ellen turned to the young lady behind the hostess station and informed her firmly, “Joanna Beth, this is Castiel. Whatever booth opens up next, you set him up, you hear me?” Joanna looked half-inclined to protest, as did the dozen or so people waiting in the small foyer, and Ellen continued in a quiet voice that brooked no argument, “This is my establishment and what I say goes here, you hear me girl? You can argue all you want at home, but if you want to work here, you will  _ treat me as the boss of you _ . Got it?” She grinned to take the sting out of her words and Joanna Beth grinned back. “You got it,  _ boss _ ,” the girl agreed. 

 

“Castiel, Dean, this is my daughter, Jo,” Ellen explained. 

 

Castiel was delighted, offering her his hand and smiling so wide Dean was almost jealous. “It is an honor to meet you Jo, I have heard so much about you. All good!” he assured her, as she looked at him incredibly suspiciously and grinned in complete disbelief.  She shook her head and turned to Dean as he offered her a handshake, her eyes widening slightly as he stepped forward and she had to lean her head back to look up at his face.

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Harvelle,” Dean offered politely, his smile bright and charming, and Jo’s eyes widened a little further at the deep, pleasant sound of his voice. She flushed ever-so-slightly and breathed, “Jo.”

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“Call me Jo. Please.” She flushed a little more as Dean nodded easily and released her hand, amended his earlier statement.

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jo,” he corrected himself, his eyes crinkling a little at the corners as he smoothly pretended not to notice Jo’s blush or Ellen’s eyes narrowing at her daughter.

 

“Alright,” Ellen said brusquely, “looks like we’ve got a booth for you boys, step right this way.” She ignored the betrayed looks from the patrons waiting in the foyer so Dean did too, following in Castiel’s wake and sliding into the booth across from Castiel after Cas chose the side he wanted, facing the door. Ellen handed them menus, leaned down to hear Cas’s drink request, and made her way back over to the bar, which looked vastly backlogged with only one bartender behind it now, struggling to keep up with requests from patrons along the row of completely occupied barstools and the drink orders coming in from the patrons in booths and at tables.

 

The din of conversation almost but not quite drowned out the jukebox, a pleasant wall of sound that made hearing what anyone was saying around them impossible. The lighting was soft and pleasant in the booths, wall fixtures casting a soft glow onto the chrome napkin dispenser and making the red vinyl of the booth look slightly orange. Dean ran a finger along the white and black checkered tile of the wall beside him where it abutted the bright white and chrome of the formica tabletop. It was real tile and grout, not imitation, and he grinned in satisfaction. He could see why Cas liked it here. He settled back into the cushion of the booth with a sigh and watched Castiel finish glancing at his menu perfunctorily, nod, and fold it to set down at the edge of the table.

 

“Do you know what you’d like, Dean?” Castiel asked, and Dean nodded, without taking his eyes from Castiel’s face. 

 

“A cheeseburger with bacon on it, french fries, and a beer,” he answered softly, his eyes dancing. “You promised.”

 

Castiel studied Dean’s face, a soft smile playing around his lips while he admired the way the soft yellow glow from the wall fixture caressed Dean’s features.  _ He was so beautiful. _   “So I did,” he conceded, watching the shadow of Dean’s eyelashes caress his cheeks as he blinked, and studying the curve of his lips as Dean smiled at him in victory.  _ Was Dean his young man? _ They hadn’t discussed any of this, they should have come to some agreement before crossing town to go on -  _ was this a *date*?  _

 

Ellen appeared at Castiel’s elbow, shaking them out of their reverie with a pair of light brown milkshakes in thick, fluted glasses, giant straws stuck in them at a jaunty angle.

 

“On the house,” she announced cheerfully, “my newest recipe. I know you asked for beer Castiel and I will bring you those personally, _ after _ you try these, I promise.”

 

Castiel and Dean grinned at her, leaned down in concert to suck on their respective straws.

 

Dean’s eyebrows rose in astonishment as the flavors washed over his tongue, sweet and bitter and sweet again, and absolutely decadent. 

 

“What is this?” Castiel breathed, “It’s to  _ die for _ , Ellen.”

 

Ellen beamed with pride, answering over her shoulder, her skirt and her ponytail swishing in an arc as she spun around to head back to the bar. “Guinness and Baileys. Isn’t it just  _ dreamy? _ ”  She smirked at Castiel as she turned away and he found himself flushing a little, took another sip of the milkshake to cover his discomfort. Ellen’s use of the word “ _ dreamy _ ” was completely out of character, and he knew damn well what she was playing at, but there would be no discussions with anyone else before he and Dean had their own discussion.

 

He lifted his glance to catch Dean’s eye, and saw they’d better have that discussion right quick. Dean’s eyes were following Ellen, a slight scowl on his face. He had obviously picked up on her prying and she was making him uncomfortable.

 

Castiel dared to reach across the table and touch his fingertips to Dean's wrist where it rested on the table. The ensuing crackle of electricity pulled Dean's attention back to him immediately, and they both stared at the point of contact as he stroked his index finger across Dean's wrist, the sparks dancing up Dean's arm and down his spine, until Dean shuddered and Castiel retracted his hand back to the chilled safety of his milkshake glass.

 

Dean's eyes darted to Castiel's mouth, and then up to his eyes, his pupils wide in the dim light, and Castiel’s mouth felt very dry just as their waiter appeared, young and handsome and harried, apologizing for the wait and lifting a pencil to his little pad of paper.

 

“What can I get you gentleman?” he asked politely, and Castiel finally managed to tear his eyes away from Dean’s face to turn to their waiter and smile, glancing at his nametag as he spoke. 

 

“We’ll both have the house special bacon cheeseburger, medium, with french fries, thank you Brad.” Castiel’s eyes darted to Dean’s face as he had a thought, back to Brad. “Wait, please make one of them with extra bacon, won’t you Brad?”

 

Brad smiled and nodded, scribbling on his notepad.  “Anything to drink?”

 

“We’ve got drinks coming, thank you Brad.” Castiel smiled again and turned his attention back to Dean as Brad turned away to go put their order in, realizing suddenly he’d been a little presumptuous.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry Dean, I didn’t ask if you minded if I ordered for both of us.”

 

Dean held his gaze steadily, his eyes sparkling. 

 

“I didn’t mind.”  

 

The soft curve of his lips, as Castiel studied them, parted gently, and Castiel swallowed to realize Dean didn’t just ‘not mind’,   _ he liked it. _

 

Castiel’s head tilted as he studied Dean’s parted lips and Dean flushed, cast his eyes down at his milkshake in embarrassment or deference or both. Whichever it was, Castiel felt a thrill of desire course through him and he closed his eyes, breathed in slowly through his nose, out through his mouth, several times until he could open his eyes in full control of himself.

 

Dean was staring at him in concern. “Are you alright?” he whispered, and Castiel smiled, nodded reassuringly.

 

“Just… trying not to think about your mouth, Dean,” he murmured quietly, his eyes dancing, as Dean spit himself a little and covered his mouth to keep his mirth contained, his eyes wide.

 

Ellen chose that moment to appear with a couple dark beers in tall glasses. She set them on the table in front of each of them and grinned at the two of them in turn, twirled away again. The place was _hopping,_ and she looked completely in her element, poodle skirt or not.

 

Dean was looking after her again, the scowl not as prominent this time, but still there around his eyes and the set of his mouth. Castiel did not dare touch him again but he cleared his throat, and Dean returned his attention to Castiel immediately, searching his face.

 

“We need to talk,” Castiel murmured quietly, the din around them making that not the worst idea, even in this public place. No one would hear a word if they chose to do so here, and Castiel raised his eyebrows to ask if now was a good time.

 

Dean’s face fell reflexively. Those were never good words to hear, and his stomach twisted around the sip of dark beer he’d just tried, rich and delicious on his tongue, now tasting like the bile he could feel rising. He watched his hands as he painstakingly set his beer glass down with slightly trembling fingers, took a deep breath. He willed his face to remain calm, squared his slumped shoulders, and lifted his face to meet Castiel’s eyes, dread swirling in the pit of his stomach.

 

Castiel was distracted, chewing his lip, his brow creased with worry, and when his attention returned to Dean’s face he looked… shy.

 

“We should have discussed it before leaving the house Dean, and I’m sorry for the oversight.” 

 

Dean winced, waiting, as Castiel leaned forward, whispered uncertainly.

 

“Are you…  _ are you my young man? _ ”

 

Oh _._ _OH!_ Dean’s stomach did a different kind of somersault, just as powerful as the sour twisting a moment ago but spreading warmth and delight where there had been dread pooling only seconds before. A soft, delighted smile worked its way across his face as he stared at Castiel.

 

“ _ Do you want me to be? _ ” 

 

Dean’s face was just as shy as Castiel’s had been a moment ago, and Brad the waiter chose that moment to arrive with a tray, cheerfully announcing, “Gosh I hope I’m not interrupting anything, but you guys must be something special - Ellen bumped every other order to get yours out first, fellas.”

 

He set Dean’s plate in front of Dean, whose eyes did not leave Castiel’s face. “Bacon cheeseburger, extra bacon…”

 

“And for you, sir,” he continued, sliding a second plate in front of Castiel, “the bacon cheeseburger. Do you gentlemen need anything else?” he asked brightly, setting a bottle of ketchup down in the middle of the table.

 

Castiel’s attention had not left Dean’s face, his gaze soft and fond.

 

“Please come back later, Brad,” Castiel said, without taking his eyes from Dean. “We need a moment. Thank you.”

 

“Sure thing, sir!” Brad chirped cheerfully and departed, and Castiel nodded gently at Dean, his gaze unblinking and his voice so quiet Dean had to lean forward to make out what he was saying.

 

“I do, Dean, _ more than anything _ , but I will defer to your wishes in this matter.” 

 

Dean just stared as Castiel continued, his voice barely above a whisper, “I haven’t been in a - a -  _ relationship _ in probably twenty years Dean, and certainly never one that involved - “ he broke eye contact to look furtively around, returned his glance to Dean’s face, dropped his voice even lower, whispered “-  _ dates _ .” 

 

Dean’s lips curved into a delighted smile as Castiel shyly whispered, his face somewhere between uncertainty and hope.

 

_ “Is this a date, Dean? _ ” 

 

Dean’s heart melted into a puddle in his chest, his famished stomach and the lure of the delicious food waiting in front of him completely forgotten as he stared at the _ absolutely gorgeous man _ he was  _ absolutely crazy about _ , whispering to him across the table in this soft, warm place, his brows furrowed in worry and hope, telling him he had never in his life _ been on a date.  _

 

_ Holy. Shit.  _

 

Dean’s instinctual fear of what people might think or say melted away under a powerful wave of affection for this man quietly waiting for his verdict, uncertainly wondering whether Dean’s declaration of undying love only hours ago extended to  _ admitting it in front of other people _ . 

 

Castiel wasn’t pressing him - his face held no expectation Dean would say yes, his forehead furrowed in concentration on Dean’s face, his eyes glowing ethereally in the soft yellow light; a different blue now, Dean noticed, than they had shone in moonlight and rain. Castiel just waited, his eyes pleading that he’d do whatever Dean wanted; he just needed to know what that was. 

 

What had he said that time, he was ‘ _ used to being taken for gay, but never with anyone else? _ ’ Dean stared at Castiel, his mind spinning, while he had the horrifying realization that no one had ever wanted to admit they were  _ with  _ Cas. He expected Dean to be ashamed. Or afraid. He expected Dean to deny him. A puzzle piece slammed into place in Dean’s brain and punched him in the gut as he realized  _ just like his family, his entire fucking family except the one brother he only just found out about Holy FUCK. _

 

When Ellen had asked, Dean had been terrified to be found out, but now, as he watched the small spark of hope in Castiel’s eyes fade into resignation while he hesitated, Dean felt something surge in him, fierce and powerful. This was one of those important decisions, he could feel it, a tipping point; like what you yelled at someone when you were fighting, or what your Mom said to your Dad when he was standing in the door with a suitcase, deciding whether to stay or go. 

 

Castiel deserved the  _ world _ , he deserved to be  _ cherished _ , and Dean felt a powerful wave of gratitude to be the one to get to _ be with him _ ; an immense swell of pride that after so many years resolutely spent alone, Cas had fallen in love with  _ him _ . He had a chance,  _ right now _ , to stand up for Cas and  _ no way _ he was gonna fuck this up;  _ no way in hell _ was Cas gonna think for even a second Dean was ashamed to be seen with him. 

 

Dean felt tears spring to his eyes as he leaned across the table, one hand on either side of their plates, and covered both of Castiel’s unresisting hands with his own, sparks racing up both their arms in time with their heartbeats.

 

“Yes, this is a  _ date _ , Cas,” he declared, his heart aching in the  _ best  _ way as he watched Castiel’s face slowly, incredulously, light up like Christmas morning. 

 

“We’ll have to figure out what we’re going to do about work and stuff,” he continued, letting go of one of Castiel’s hands to pop a french fry in his mouth and chew it, his eyelids fluttering a little as he continued with his mouth full, “but I want to _ be with you  _ Cas, and  _ yes  _ that means everything.  _ Even dates. _ ” 

 

Dean reached for his burger with both hands, his stomach settled from before and reminding him in no uncertain terms that all he’d eaten today was an omelette and he had expended  _ a lot _ of energy. He grinned at Castiel as he leaned over his plate to take a huge bite, and Castiel watched him expectantly, his eyes wide with anticipation.

 

Dean shut his eyes and straight up  _ moaned _ as the flavors burst over his tongue, and Castiel nodded in satisfaction, reaching for his own burger. It was just as delicious as he remembered, maybe more so, and he racked his brains trying to remember the last time he’d had one. He’d never ordered one, preferring lighter fare, but Ellen had insisted one night as they stayed up past the restaurant closing discussing one of the poems he’d needed to read her and arguing the finer points of metaphor, and she’d made them both a burger and insisted he at least take a bite. He’d eaten the whole thing and she had nodded in triumph, just as he was doing now, watching Dean enjoy his in turn.

 

There was quiet chewing for a few minutes as they worked on their meals, Castiel slowing much sooner than Dean, setting his giant burger down about half-eaten to dip a few more fries in ketchup, washing them down with sips of dark beer as he watched Dean polish off his entire plate. 

 

Castiel could feel his heart glowing with satisfaction and fierce joy that this beautiful man he loved so much wanted  _ everything _ . With  _ him _ . He was on a  _ date _ . The impossible wonder of it all was overwhelming, and he took a deep breath, his vision blurring a little. He had a passing thought and he figured now was as good a time as any to ask.

 

“What should I tell Ellen?” he asked Dean softly. “She’s obviously dying to ask.”

 

Dean grinned at Castiel, taking a long pull of his beer and eyeing Cas’s plate longingly.

 

“What do you  _ want _ to tell her, Cas?”

 

Castiel swapped their plates smoothly and Dean’s face lit up as he reached for Castiel’s remaining burger.

 

“I don’t know,” Castiel murmured, “I don’t even know what people say. Are we ‘seeing’ each other?”  

 

Dean protested with his mouth full, swallowed so he could speak. “Dunno Cas, to me that one kind of implies we’re probably seeing other people too, not sure that one works for me.”

 

Castiel’s eyes widened in surprise, his head tilting unconsciously to one side as he studied Dean’s face.

 

“Won’t you be?” 

 

“What?!? _ No! _ ” Dean’s mouth fell open in dismay and he just stared at Castiel for a long moment, trying to wrap his head around what could possibly be going on inside Castiel’s head; what kind of experience he could be drawing on to make his expectations so. Goddamn.  _ Low _ .

 

As Castiel’s face fell in confusion at Dean’s outburst, Dean snapped out of his daze, set the tail end of the burger down, resolutely wiped his mouth and his hands on his napkin and reached his hand halfway across the table towards Castiel, palm up, waiting expectantly. Castiel studied his hand for a moment until Dean raised his eyebrows, looking pointedly at his hand and back to Castiel’s face until Castiel understood, reached his hand out hesitantly to gently grip Dean’s, ignoring the tingle to look Dean in the eye.

 

“Didn’t you _ just _ tell me, not even two hours ago, that you were mine? That you weren’t - aren’t - going to see anyone else?” Dean asked, rubbing his thumb gently back and forth across the back of Castiel’s hand. Castiel’s eyes were helplessly drawn to their hands for a moment as electricity crackled up his spine from the caress, desire blooming in his body, but he shuddered and looked back at Dean’s face to answer, his voice hesitant.

 

“Yes, but that was only my promise to you, Dean. My pledge has no bearing on what you decide you wish to share with me, and what you might decide instead to share with the other lovers you take to your bed when you tire of me or seek variety...” His brows creased in confusion as Dean’s mouth fell open in dismay again. “I’m sorry, what am I doing wrong Dean? I don’t understand.”

 

Dean took a deep breath and found his voice, cracking as he asked the question as calmly as he could manage. 

 

“So let me get this straight, Cas, you promised me you were mine and mine alone, but you expect me to  _ fuck around on you  _ whenever I get  _ bored _ ? And you don’t  _ mind?  _ That doesn't  _ bother _ you?” 

 

Castiel recoiled as if he’d been slapped, and his eyes glazed as he almost spat his reply.

 

“ _Of course it hurts every time I am not wanted Dean,_ _but that’s just how it *works*_.”

 

He rubbed his eyes with the back of his free hand, apologized at Dean’s utter look of horror.

 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel muttered. His eyes cast down to the table and he stared at their hands. Dean’s thumb had stilled as their conversation progressed and now their hands were motionless, clasped tightly together, pulses racing with adrenaline.  

 

“I just… look, I don’t know what else you want from me. Unless - “ Castiel’s eyes met Dean’s for a moment, white with fear, and then fell to the table again as he quietly begged. 

 

“I don’t want anyone else to touch me, so  _ please  _ don’t ask me to - you can do whatever you like of course, but  _ please  _ don’t ask me to join you with the others.  _ I... I don’t want to, not this time, _ * _ please*, Dean _ .”

 

_ Jesus. Fucking. CHRIST.   _ Dean stared at Castiel with his mouth hanging open, the tears in Castiel’s eyes stabbing him in the fucking heart. He wanted to throttle whoever had hurt Cas like this with his bare hands, but instead he steeled his face, took a deep breath, and brought his other hand up to cover the one Castiel was currently clutching his with, Castiel’s breathing ragged and afraid. 

 

“Cas. Look at me,” Dean commanded softly. Castiel complied immediately, his eyes red and defeated. “I don’t know how stuff worked for you before, Cas,” Dean murmured gently, “but I’ve never been good at sharing - except with Sammy, and that is  _ never gonna happen.”  _

 

Dean grinned as Castiel snorted, his lip wrinkling in distaste. 

 

“Yeah. Good, glad we agree there. But... this thing between us, Cas... we get to make our own rules. However it was before, that’s not how it’s going to be for you and me. I am not going to see anyone else but you, okay? Only you.”

 

Castiel stared at him in confusion. “But - “

 

“No buts, Cas. Well, only one - yours.” Dean grinned and Castiel snorted, a slow smile spreading across his face at Dean’s stupid pun.

 

“I don’t understand, Dean,” he insisted. “Surely you will continue to find women - and perhaps other men - attractive, and you aren’t defective like I am, so why would you limit your sexual partners to just one person?” 

 

Dean squeezed the hand he was holding between both of his and shook his head at Castiel slowly. 

 

“You aren’t defective Cas, you just need to care about someone before you have sexual feelings for them. It might surprise you, but it turns out I like sex with someone I care about so much I don’t want to have sex with anyone else, either.” 

 

Castiel’s slowly spreading smile didn’t stop him asking “ - but you could care for someone else as well, and then - “

 

Dean shook his head again, this time pulling Castiel’s hand as far as he could across the table to press his lips to it softly, Castiel’s eyes growing very wide and darting furtively around the restaurant as he did so. When Dean spoke, his voice was as patient and gentle as Castiel had ever heard it, his face tender, and his eyes glistened with emotion as Castiel stared at him in confusion, trying desperately to understand.

 

“Castiel Novak. _I. Choose._ _You._ There aren’t going to be any others, do you understand Cas? _Only you._ Yes, I’ll still have eyes, yes, I’m probably gonna care about other people in my entire life, but I am _choosing_. _You._ ” 

 

Castiel listened to Dean’s words, parsed them over and over in his mind as he studied Dean’s face, and the furrows on his brow smoothed away as he finally,  _ FINALLY _ understood what Dean had been trying to tell him since he’d pressed his hand over his heart in the Impala on Friday night.

 

“I understand, Dean. You  _ love me back _ .” 

 

Castiel’s face broke into a delighted,  _ smug _ smile as Dean’s face broke into answering sunshine and he nodded in response.

 

“ _ YES _ , Cas, that’s exactly right! You nailed it.”

 

Naturally, Ellen chose exactly that moment to appear with refills in hand, and she took in the tableau with her eyebrows raised, set the glasses down, and narrowed her eyes at Castiel.  

 

“Friends my ass,” she said calmly, and crossed her arms.

 

“Yes, Ellen, you are correct,” Castiel answered her eagerly, tearing his eyes away from Dean’s face to look up at Ellen and smile. “Dean and I have just discussed the nature of our relationship, and while we haven’t discussed what we’ll do about work, where we are colleagues and prohibited from dating, may I introduce you to Dean Winchester, the only man I have ever loved and my - “ he glanced at Dean, eyebrows raised, and queried  “ - monogamous boyfriend?”

  
Dean and Ellen snorted in stereo, and then shared a delighted look, an understanding passing between them. Dean stood up, shimmied out of the booth, and offered Ellen a firm handshake, murmuring, “It’s a real pleasure to meet anyone else who appreciates Cas.”

 

“Uh, just ‘boyfriend’ is fine, Cas,” he added, in a slightly louder voice, “That other stuff is just for us, okay?” 

 

Castiel nodded happily, assimilating the new information as Ellen threw her arms around Dean, pulled him down into a tight squeeze, her poodle skirt crushing against him, and whispered, “ _ You be good to him, you hear, or I will kill you in cold blood. _ ”  

 

Dean grinned in delight, whispered back, “ _ Yes ma’am, I will, and I would expect no less. _ ”

 

They parted and beamed at each other, and Ellen declared, “I like him, Cas.”

 

“Oh, I do too, Ellen,  _ very much _ ,” Castiel agreed, as Dean slid back into the booth to grin at Castiel fondly, while Cas leaned up to Ellen and whispered in her ear. She beamed and nodded at him, disappeared in a twirl of skirts and ponytail.

 

“What did you say to her?” Dean asked.

 

“You’ll see,” Castiel answered smugly.

 

Dean narrowed his eyes and they stared at each other in fond  détente for maybe a whole minute until Ellen reappeared with a single plate bearing an enormous piece of apple pie and two forks. It was Dean’s turn to light up like Christmas morning as Ellen placed it in front of him, scooping up the other two plates out of their way and grinning and winking at Castiel as he beamed at her and they both watched Dean take a bite. His eyelids fluttered closed as he sucked in a breath through his nose, barely stifling a moan at how delicious it was. “It’s still  _ waaarm, _ ” he breathed, and Ellen’s eyes widened.    
  


“ _ Of course _ it is, Pumpkin, what do you take me for?” She grinned at Castiel as she reached down to take the empty beer glasses as well, commenting in a hushed, wry tone “He sure is pretty, Cas, I’ll give you that.”

 

“Yes,” Castiel agreed, his eyes darkening as Dean’s cheeks flushed under the scrutiny. “And he has excellent hearing.” 

 

Ellen laughed and winked at Dean, swept away and left them to it, staring at each other in the soft yellow light, Dean’s fork poised above the pie, the flush in his cheeks spreading to his ears while Castiel’s expanding pupils dropped to Dean’s mouth, slowly caressed his jaw, worked their way down his neck, across his shoulders, over his chest, lingered on the curve of his waist where his torso disappeared from Castiel’s view below the table; Dean’s body answering immediately with a swell of arousal. Castiel’s eyes grazed their way hungrily back up to Dean’s wide eyes just as their waiter materialized.

 

“Hey guys, how is everything?” he asked brightly.

 

Castiel’s eyes did not even twitch away from Dean’s. Castiel’s head tilted as he watched Dean swallow reflexively, and his eyes traveled to the pulse point in Dean’s neck, where he could  _ see _ Dean’s heart racing.

 

“Bring us a to-go container for that pie right now, Brad, fast as you can, and you will receive a tip commensurate with your exemplary service, the kind of tip you have only heard about in whispers and fantasy,” Castiel growled, his enormous pupils fixed on Dean’s eyes now, a wicked curve spreading across his lips.

 

Brad’s mouth fell open at the same time as Dean’s, but Brad was nothing if not enterprising, and he took off at a literal run. He was back in under thirty seconds, carefully sliding Dean’s pie into the styrofoam container while Castiel pulled out his wallet, glanced inside, pulled out a hundred dollar bill and pushed it towards the edge of the table without looking at Brad, his eyes fixed on Dean’s face. 

 

“Please tell Ellen something came up, Brad,” Castiel murmured, “and that we will come back soon to see her again. Off you go then, we do not need any change.”

 

Brad took his largesse with shaking hands and literally bolted, while Dean stared at Castiel in shocked anticipation, his erection painfully straining against the seam of his jeans.

 

Castiel’s lips parted as he stared at Dean’s mouth and Dean _felt_ Castiel will himself not to hurl his body over the table and push their tongues together, _felt_ it as if he had done it. Dean closed his eyes for a moment to let his wave of answering desire pass, opened them to find Castiel standing beside him, suit jacket casually slung over his arm, held in front of his body to conceal; his eyes flicking to the pie impatiently.

 

“Get in the car, Dean.  _ Now. _ ”

 

“ _ Yes, Sir. _ ” 

 

Dean realized his mistake only after he stood up to face Castiel, trapped in the booth by Castiel’s body, electricity crackling between them like lightning. Dean felt the moment stretch taut;  _ felt _ Castiel’s need war with his self-control, and he waited patiently, staring down at his boyfriend’s  _ absolutely gorgeous face _ , to find out if they were leaving or getting arrested.

  
  


 


	65. Saturday Night Fever

Dean listened to Castiel’s soft breath whistling past his ear. He could feel Castiel’s heartbeat, slow and steady at his back, and he could feel the washing machine vibrating through the floor from below, working diligently to catch up with the mess they had made today. He caressed his thumb gently back and forth over Cas’s hand, held gently in his own, the entire length of their naked bodies entwined on top of crisp white linen sheets, where they had collapsed after making the bed for the second time in twenty-four hours. Castiel’s arm curved over Dean’s waist from behind, his embrace like a fire at Dean’s back, and Dean felt no need to reach for even just the top sheet as he drifted in and out of a doze, not quite ready to let this day end.

 

They had made it as far as the car - just barely - before Castiel’s self-control had given out and he had shoved his body against Dean from behind, growling and pinning him against the car, his mouth on Dean’s ear and his erection pressing insistently against the curve of Dean’s ass. Dean had moaned helplessly, arching his back and half turning so Castiel could push their tongues together, the styrofoam container of pie creaking in his hands as he gripped it, Castiel’s arms wrapping around him from behind; one hand on his throat and the other on his cock. Dean shuddered at the memory; he could feel Castiel’s palm sliding against his cock through thick denim even now, an echo of the desperate heat that had almost had him blowing his load in his jeans like a teenager rippling through him now; making his back arch and his breath hitch. Castiel moaned and nestled against him in his sleep, and Dean’s soft, delighted smile made his freckles dance as he wriggled in Castiel’s embrace until he could see his face. Cas’s stubble was thick, _Jesus_ it grew fast, but his forehead was smooth, none of the weight he carried there while he was awake visible now.

 

Dean studied Castiel’s face, the opportunity to stare with impunity impossible to pass up. Cas looked so much younger asleep - not that he looked old, Dean thought reflexively, refusing to impugn Cas even in his mind, but… there was an innocence to him now, so much less pain written on his forehead and around his softly closed eyes. Dean pushed past the good part of their time in the parking garage, examined the slides that followed, clicking through them like he had on the red plastic Viewmaster 3D Sam had played with as a child, each memory burned as a still image in the round cardboard reel of his mind’s eye. He thought about the look that had flashed over Castiel’s face when the asshole in the truck they hadn’t noticed was occupied had rolled down his window and yelled, “Get a room, faggots!” The pain and shame he’d seen there for a split second, and the way Castiel’s eyes had flicked, terrified, to Dean’s face, to see if he would change his mind now. The way Castiel’s teeth had bitten his lip to blood and he had shrunk into himself, cold air between them now where there had been a wall of heat before.

 

It had taken Dean several seconds to register what had happened, and the fury that had twisted his stomach at seeing Castiel’s reaction was still simmering in his veins. He had been ready to kill the bigot, hands curled into fists as he turned with his nostrils flared, but Castiel’s hand on his arm had stopped him. 

 

“Don’t. They always travel in packs,” he muttered, reaching around Dean to unlock the car, so Dean settled for yelling, “FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE, WE’VE GOT ONE!” as he circled the car to get into the passenger side, Castiel already inside starting his beast. It was a lame comeback and Dean could think of a dozen better ones right now, his mind swirling with impotent rage that he had been unable to protect Cas better and unsure what he could have done differently. 

 

The car ride back to Cas’s place had started all kinds of tense, Dean’s rage ebbing and flowing in waves with the tension he could feel rolling off Castiel, sexual tension still there between them, but laced now with Castiel’s palpable fear of Dean’s reaction, his silence fraught. Dean racked his brains for what to say, but it was Castiel who broke the silence.

 

“I’m sorry I put you in that situation, Dean.”

 

Dean stared at Castiel, aghast. “Cas, you have _nothing_ to apologize for.”

 

“I should have controlled myself, Dean. I put you in harm’s way with my indiscretion and I’m sorry.”

 

Dean’s mouth fell open as he stared at Castiel’s face, grim in the reflected streetlights, his mouth a straight line.

 

“No.”

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“No, I didn’t want you to control yourself, Cas. I wanted you to fuck me over this car.”

 

Castiel’s intake of breath was loud in the enclosed space. Dean stared at him evenly as he signaled and made a right turn.

 

“You aren’t ready, Dean,” Castiel protested, his voice low and laced with want.

 

“Yeah, I know, and logistically it was impossible, I get it, but when you shoved me against the car, I’ve never wanted anything more.” Dean shuddered, the sense memory of Castiel’s breath against his neck intoxicating, and Castiel glanced at him and then back at the road, his lips slowly curving into a smile.

 

“I can’t say I wasn’t thinking about the exact same thing, Dean.”

 

“I know.”

 

The tension in the car grew and changed as Dean’s breath hissed through his teeth, his flagging erection rekindling its interest as he watched Castiel’s fear replace itself with fire, his eyes intensely staring into the future even while he carefully maneuvered the narrow streets towards his house. 

 

“I will wait as long as you need me to, Dean,” he said finally. “But when you are ready, on a clear night, you will drive us out to the desert in your Baby, and when you have chosen the place you wish to scream my name I will fuck you over her glistening hood under the stars until you weep for mercy, and only then will I let you come, with my name on your lips and my cock splitting you open, Dean, possessing you how no man ever has, and only I ever will.”

 

A very long moment passed until Dean could form words, and when he did speak his voice was almost as strained as his cock against the seam of his jeans.

 

“ _Jesus, Cas!_ ”

 

“Just Cas is fine, Dean.” Castiel grinned ferally as he turned past Baby, glittering under a streetlight, into his driveway, the garage door opening automatically to accept Castiel’s Old Lady.

 

Dean couldn’t tear his eyes away from Castiel’s face, his pulse pounding throughout his entire body as he watched Castiel’s mouth form his next words.

 

“Take your pie and get inside the house, Dean.” Castiel’s voice was low and guttural, and Dean’s entire body vibrated as he spoke.

 

“ _Yes, Sir._ ”

 

“ _Good boy._ ”

 

They made it as far as the living room carpet this time, Dean’s head start as Castiel closed the garage door lost as he waited for Cas to unlock the front door, his headlong rush to the bedroom ending as Castiel’s arms circled him from behind and his teeth found the column of Dean’s neck. He didn’t bite hard enough to leave a mark, but Dean’s entire body went stiff anyway, gooseflesh racing up and down his spine and the hair on the back of his neck rippling upright as he moaned and leaned into Castiel’s embrace, his moan turning into a whimper as Castiel’s hand found its way inside his jeans and wrapped around his cock.

 

Castiel stroked him dry, teeth and tongue now working around the shell of Dean’s ear, his other hand twisting a nipple through thin cotton until Dean’s whimpers sounded more like warning cries, then he yanked Dean backwards while sweeping his knees out from under him, easily lowered him to the floor, caught the last of Dean’s yelp of surprise in his mouth as he knelt beside him to shove a knee between his thighs. Dean whimpered and moaned and sucked on as much tongue as Castiel would give him, arching against the thigh Cas was grinding against him only to stop every time Dean got close, his panting breath laced with beer and pie and desperation.

 

Castiel wouldn’t let Dean come, pulled his tension taut and then denied him his release, over and over, pinning Dean’s arms over his head with his weight and strength, kissing him passionately and tenderly and passionately again and grinding against him until Dean was sore from the friction, his need shining in his eyes as glittering tears, his gasping breaths coming almost as sobs.

 

No words had passed between them in what felt like hours, just moans and rasping breaths, and as Dean almost crested for the dozenth time only to have Cas expertly derail his momentum, his frustration finally welled over and ran down his cheeks and he found himself sobbing for real.

 

“ _Please, Cas,_ ” he begged, the words coming with difficulty, the part of his brain that controlled speech _absolutely not_ in the driver’s seat right now. “ _Please_ let me come.”

 

Castiel lifted his head from Dean’s chest where he was currently torturing a nipple, his face fierce. His eyes grazed over the tear tracks on Dean’s cheeks, and his expression softened; he met Dean’s gaze with such approval on his face that Dean gasped out loud at the pleasure that bloomed in his chest to see it.

 

“Oh _well done_ , Dean,” he purred. “You have begged me for my mercy, and so you shall have it. That is all I needed to hear.”

 

Dean’s mouth fell open and his eyes flared wide as apple pies, Castiel’s pupils enormous in the dark room as they stared at each other in awe, but as Dean held his breath to find out what would happen next a shadow passed over Castiel’s face, his expression changing from fierce desire and approval to insecurity laced with desperation.

 

“No, that’s not all,” he whispered, shaking his head. “I need…I need you to tell me you’re mine, Dean,” he pleaded, “ _I need to hear you say it_.”

 

Dean didn’t even notice the fresh tears sliding down his face as he stared up at Castiel, his chest heaving, and he sobbed as he spoke, his voice breaking. 

 

“ _I’m yours, Cas, I’m yours._ _I want to belong to you, it’s all I want, it’s all I’ve been trying to tell you_ , _I just want to be yours._ ”

 

Dean’s eyes slid shut, tears still slipping out from under them as Castiel kissed the salt from his face and petted him gently, soothing the sobs racking his body. He didn’t really notice Cas unzipping his jeans but he _sure as fuck_ felt Castiel’s searing hot mouth engulf his entire aching cock, the sobs of emotion racking his body becoming sobs of relief instead as Castiel’s tongue spiraled his simmering tension up and up and up, past all the peaks he’d almost crested before and beyond, the orgasm Cas had denied him over and over _nothing_ compared to the one that Cas gave him now. 

 

Castiel didn’t pause this time, didn’t tease, firmly gripped Dean’s hip in one hand and cradled his balls in the other, one adept finger pressing firmly up into his perineum behind them. Castiel knelt between Dean’s thighs and gave him as much pleasure as he knew how, while Dean’s back arched off the carpet and he screamed and convulsed, spilling wave after wave of ecstasy into the heat of Castiel’s throat.

 

Dean shuddered at the memory, admiring Castiel’s mouth, lips gently parted in his sleep. He shuddered again remembering the way Castiel had looked at him as he swallowed one last time and slid those gorgeous lips up off his cock, undoing his own trousers and gripping his cock in his hand in one smooth motion, groaning as he stared at Dean’s face and started to stroke himself dry. Dean had been mesmerized, frozen, his eyes glued to Castiel’s, but as Cas had started to shudder Dean had cried out, and Castiel had hesitated, his hand pausing in mid-stroke. 

 

“ _Please!_ ” Dean had begged, “ _Please let me touch you, Cas. Please_.”

 

Castiel had nodded his permission, let go and rearranged himself to lean back on his elbows, and Dean had fallen over himself to please him. He stroked Cas at the same pace Cas had just been stroking himself, leaning over to use his mouth, too, not sure how to make the angle work but Cas groaned and reached for the back of Dean’s head, laced his fingers in Dean’s hair and fucked up into Dean’s mouth at the pace he needed, fast and shallow, no more than half a dozen thrusts groaning and watching his cock slide between Dean’s lips before he came with a shout, his entire body going taut as he crested. Dean eagerly took everything Cas could give him, stroking him though the wave, swallowing Cas as far down as he could manage, then reluctantly releasing him when he hissed at the stimulation.

 

Dean crawled up Castiel’s body to kiss him and when Castiel grabbed the back of his head the exact same way he had just done to guide his pleasure Dean whimpered and melted, his body going limp and pliant as Castiel rolled him over, crawled on top of him, and tasted himself from Dean’s mouth, the taste of Dean still on his own lips. He fucked Dean’s mouth with his tongue the exact same way he had just done with his cock and Dean shuddered and moaned at the filthy heat of it, his spent cock twitching as he writhed and panted.

 

Eventually Dean winced, his dick too sore to rub against fabric anymore, and Castiel climbed off him, gently stroked his cheek.

 

“Pull your pants up, Dean. I want to watch you eat your pie, and then I want to hold you.” 

 

Dean laughed out loud, pulled up his pants, scrambled to his feet.

 

“I think that can be arranged.” 

 

He ate his pie sitting at the kitchen table, Castiel’s attention caressing him, making his chest tight and his cheeks flush while Castiel’s eyes danced to see it. Castiel really did just watch, following the fork with his eyes and watching Dean’s lips as the fork went into his mouth, watching his lips as he chewed, until Dean couldn’t stand it anymore and handed him the fork, blushing furiously.

 

“You eat some.”

 

Castiel took the fork, slid it under the pie, lifted it with pie on it, but he didn’t eat it. He leaned forward to lift it towards Dean’s mouth instead, breathing, “I’ll taste it on your lips.”

 

Dean blushed absolutely crimson, nevertheless opening his mouth to accept the now ridiculously suggestive end of the fork that had heretofore been an innocent piece of apple pie. He shuddered as he closed his lips over the fork, Castiel never breaking eye contact as he slowly pulled the fork out of Dean’s closed mouth, set it on the table.

 

They stared at each other for a long moment, Castiel’s pupils somehow wide and dark again, until Castiel whispered “ _good boy_ ,” and Dean straight up moaned, immediately covering his mouth with his hand in surprise to hear the sound he had made. 

 

The approval on Castiel’s face made Dean’s chest so tight it ached. He took a long, quavering breath, and waited to see what Castiel would do, which turned out to be stand up, hold his hand out for Dean’s. Dean stood up, wordlessly surrendered his hand, followed Castiel up the stairs to the linen closet, where Cas pulled out fresh sheets and led Dean to the bedroom so they could make the bed again. Cas disappeared downstairs to start some laundry while Dean used the bathroom, traded spots with him to freshen up and arrived in the bedroom naked to find Dean already lounging on the sheets, naked as well. He climbed in to lay beside him, leaned up on his elbow to gaze down at Dean’s face in the soft amber light.

 

“I didn’t brush my teeth,” Dean had whispered shyly, “because you wanted to taste the pie...” and Cas had beamed at him. 

 

“I didn’t brush mine either, because I can still taste you and I infinitely prefer the taste of your cock to mint.”

 

They stared at each other in sweetly bashful delight, Dean uncertain if anything was expected of him until Castiel broke the spell, leaning gently down to taste pie from Dean’s lips. His kisses were tender, his caresses gentle, and he ran his hands over every inch of Dean’s body, slowly worshipping him with soft touches and gentle kisses, exploring what tickled and what made Dean sigh, caressing his hair and his lips and his cheeks, running soft fingers and lips over his chest and stomach and thighs and even tracing his fingertips over Dean’s feet, working his way back up Dean's body to hold his hands and kiss his fingers one by one. 

 

By the time he took Dean’s index finger in his mouth and suckled it gently Dean’s entire body was alive with whispering nerve endings, all of his body hair on end, his cock half-hard with interest but no urgency, and Dean gasped as he felt the heat of Castiel’s mouth as if it were around his cock, even though Cas was innocently suckling only his finger. Dean’s eyes grew wide as Castiel smiled around his finger, swirling and undulating his tongue and smugly watching Dean’s cock twitch and jump as his nerve endings lied to his brain.

 

When Castiel leaned down to take Dean’s cock in his mouth his touch was gentle, tender, and he caressed his hands over all the places that had made Dean sigh before, none of the ones that had tickled, every caress a claim. Dean’s chest ached and his eyes welled as Castiel made love to him with his hands and his mouth, and when he climaxed it was gentle, a soft sigh and a flutter of his eyelashes, his orgasm almost painful he was so sore from before.

 

Castiel climbed up his body to kiss him, the taste of his own jizz on Cas’s tongue firmly clinching a spot in Dean’s Top Five as he eagerly opened his mouth to accept it. Castiel reached for lube, languidly stroked himself as they kissed, but it wasn’t until Dean reached up with both hands to harshly twist his nipples like he’d watched Cas do Friday night that Castiel gasped into Dean’s mouth, groaning around Dean’s tongue as he spilled his pleasure over his hand to spatter Dean’s stomach with searing heat. Dean groaned as he felt his last Top Ten entry that wasn’t Cas-related - a perennial favorite in his personal spank bank - drop firmly out of even his Top Hundred, his entire roster spinning like a cartoon slot machine and coming up all Cas.

 

Castiel had reached for one of the hand towels he’d had the foresight to stack on the nightstand, cleaned them up, collapsed beside Dean. They’d lain entwined for ages, listening to each other’s heartbeats and soft breath until Cas had slipped away from him into slumber. 

 

Dean’s eyes wandered from studying Castiel’s magical mouth back up to his smooth, unconcerned forehead and he vowed silently to himself that he would do everything in his power to make it look like that all the time. His soft sigh fluttered Castiel’s eyes open, and Dean admired the new blue they shone in this light, whispered “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

 

“I didn’t mean to let this night end,” Castiel whispered back, and Dean smiled down at him, his face glowing in the soft light. 

 

“There will be more nights, Cas, I promise,” Dean said softly, his hand coming up to stroke Castiel’s cheek.

 

“Yes, but this is the night you told me you were mine, Dean.” Castiel’s eyes glittered with sudden emotion, soft blue pools now, threatening to spill over, and Dean leaned down to kiss his forehead where it was crinkled again.

 

“I know I suck at finding the words you need to hear, Cas,” he whispered, “but I will show you every day.”  He kissed Castiel’s cheeks now, where the salt was escaping. “Come on, let’s brush our teeth in case you try to kiss me in the morning. You’re insatiable.”

 

Castiel snorted, managed to heave himself halfway up on one elbow but collapsed onto his back again under Dean’s partial weight. Dean grinned, stroked his thumb along Castiel’s lower lip, shuddering with an aftershock of desire as Castiel’s lips parted.

 

“I will never get enough of you, Dean.”

 

“And I will never tire of you, Castiel.”

 

They stared at each other in mutual delight for exactly long enough before crawling out of bed to brush their teeth, playfully shoving each other out of the way to spit, rinse their faces, collapse in bed with the lights out, argue affectionately over whose turn it was to be the big spoon.

 

It was Castiel’s turn, technically, but he let Dean hold him because he craved it, fell asleep immediately, safe in the circle of Dean’s arms.

 

Dean fought sleep for as long as he could, relishing the feeling of Castiel’s heartbeat against his chest, until at last the gentle rhythm of Castiel’s breathing pulled him under and sleep took him, the weight he didn’t realize he was carrying around his eyes smoothing away and making him look just as peaceful as the man he loved, gently slumbering in his arms.

 

 


	66. Easy Like Sunday Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to take a moment to thank the readers who left me comments last Friday, then again those of you who stepped up at the beginning of this week when I was wailing on twitter that my needs for head pats were not being met. I don't know whether to apologize or double down - both have their appeal - but just to summarize the wailing: I understand that a reader's relationship with the art is out of my hands and none of my business, I promise, I have been an avid reader for at least 35 years. 
> 
> I am new to sharing *writing* though, and my experience with last week was that the more intimate and emotional the chapter, the *less* feedback I got, so from where I'm sitting the parts I poured the *most* of my humanity into and worked the *most diligently* on to get that chord of emotion just right felt like they got the highest ratio of crickets. Plus, I was traveling alone and extra needy and probably took it extra personally. So I half apologize & half double down: I am needy and petulant and my creation toiling speed is about 25 hours per 5k start to finish which huuuurts, so if I make you feel *anything* please pop by with a smiley or a keysmash or a sentence, *anything* to keep me from holing up with my beta and taking a long self-pity publishing hiatus.
> 
> I'm sorry I'm like this & thanks in advance for your consideration. :-D

Dean woke with a start, his bladder screaming, and found himself disoriented by the unfamiliar sunshine streaming through the curtains. Their window was covered with heavy curtains and a roof over the balcony, why the fuck would Sam have opened the -  _ Oh _ . He sighed happily and reached for Cas, but he was alone on the acres of linen sheets, and by the look of that sun it was pretty late morning, too. He must have stayed up later than he meant to holding Cas, and Cas hadn’t wanted to wake him. 

 

Dean groaned and swung his legs over the side of the bed, wandered down the hall naked to use the bathroom. He could smell coffee, so he padded back to the bedroom to pull on his boxers and jeans in case Cas had the curtains open downstairs or something - no need to treat the neighbors - but when he got downstairs the house was empty.

 

Dean’s disappointment at not finding Cas was eased by finding a note on the table, a box of doughnuts, and a small plate of - what the fuck was that,  _ worms _ ? Dean picked up the note, wrinkling his nose at whatever the fuck  _ that  _ was, only to break into a soft smile as he read it.

  
  


_ Dean, _

 

_ I couldn’t bear to wake you. I waited for you in case you wish to witness or partake in my usual morning self-care, but as a result I find myself so tense I need to go for a run while I wait.  _

 

_ Meanwhile, I thought you might like to have breakfast with the piscine poets. They will be very anxious about the delay, so please give them their breakfast even if you do not care for any. _

 

_ Yours, _

_ Castiel. _

  
  


_ Jesus,  _ Cas really was insatiable. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d said - what was it - he was  _ cursed with an unusually high libido?  _ Dean grinned smugly to himself,  _ no way  _ that was gonna be a curse with him around now, more like the  _ luckiest fucking break possible _ ; not only did he manage to fall for the hottest guy on the planet, Castiel turned out to have a  _ killer _ sex drive. 

 

Dean found himself incredibly touched that Cas had waited for him, more than a little turned on thinking about it, and wondering what piscine meant all in the same moment. He walked over to pour himself a cup of coffee, poring over the note held in his hand and then briefly between his teeth and in his hand again, studying Castiel’s signature. He’d never seen it written out before and it was really cool, the C making a huge loop with the a inside, and the t kind of dotting the i, too. He studied the word “Yours,” relishing the way it made his stomach do somersaults, even though it was probably a perfectly normal thing to sign on a note.

 

Dean folded the note carefully and slipped it into his back pocket, wandered over to the table to pull the box of doughnuts away from the worms and open the box, leaning down to take a good look at the insects. They were kind of a yellow brown with tiny feet, and they were all dead, which was a plus, but what the fuck could - Oh,  _ OH _ . Castiel’s  _ fish _ . Dean’s face split into a huge grin, and he grabbed a couple doughnuts, balanced the plate of dead worms in the same hand, the cup of coffee in the other, and walked across the carpet in bare feet to work the french door open with one finger and his knee, slide it shut with his foot, and blink against the brightness of the sun. He made his way down the stairs to crunch across the gravel in bare feet toward the tiny pond.

 

The gravel was more round than sharp, and Dean was relieved to find that it only hurt a little. Stepping incredibly painstakingly, each step a careful decision, Dean got to the bench with only a couple winces. He parked his ass on the warm stone and set the plate and coffee down next to him on the bench to get himself situated. Cas hadn’t been kidding, the guys really were anxious, bobbing to the surface to blow accusing bubbles at Dean; agitating the surface of the water in their eagerness. Dean laughed, scolded them, “Geez, hold your horses guys.” He took a bite of doughnut, steeled himself, and grimacing, he took a pinch of the worms and sprinkled them on the water. The worms felt kind of waxy and brittle, not slimy at all as he had feared. He watched the boys gobble them up and glare accusingly at him, laughed out loud at their angry fish expressions, and gave them another pinch far less hesitantly, having another bite of doughnut himself.

 

By the time Dean was done with his doughnuts and coffee, the koi were satisfied, swimming in lazy circles and watching attentively in case he might drop anything else. Dean shook his head down at them regretfully; no he didn’t dare share the doughnuts. God knew they were probably bad enough for him; he wasn’t going to take a chance on making Castiel’s pets sick. He sighed contentedly, listened to the sound of the fountain for a little bit while the sun whispered secrets to the freckles on his shoulders, until the coffee started to have an argument with his stomach and he needed to head inside. Dean headed for the deck, reaching for the rake before he realized he wasn’t going to have time, bolted up the stairs, dropped the mug and plate on the kitchen table, and made it to the downstairs bathroom in no small amount of pain. 

 

Castiel’s coffee was stronger than usual today, Dean groused to himself - okay that or one and a half of Ellen Harvelle’s cheeseburgers plus fries _ and  _ beer  _ and _ a giant slice of apple pie on top of that were taxing his system. Speaking of pie, he hadn’t even finished that had he? Cas had been watching him eat it - Dean blushed furiously just  _ thinking _ about it - and then he had made Dean eat it like it was - Dean shuddered and blushed worse, thinking about the night before. Cas was  _ So. Fucking. Hot.  _ And  _ all his _ , Dean thought smugly. His  _ boyfriend, _ Dean remembered with a thrill, now that he’d finally been able to get Cas to understand how he wanted them to be together. Like  _ together _ together. 

 

His mind circled back to the asshole in the truck and how that was probably going to happen again; how terrified Cas’s face had been that he was going to change his mind. Dean looked down at his fists, curled in rage, and took a deep breath; through his mouth because this wasn’t his first rodeo. He blew out the breath and uncurled his fists. No. He wasn’t going to change his mind, he was  _ proud _ to be with Cas, no matter  _ who _ the fuck was looking.

  
  


***

  
  


When Castiel pushed open his front door, dripping in sweat and feeling much more relaxed, he saw the note missing and the doughnut box raided, kicked off his sneakers and made his way down the back stairs to find Dean gamely sipping a second cup of coffee and having a lively discussion with Lord Byron, waving a fork and scolding him that fish didn’t even  _ like _ apple pie, so there was no sense in begging. Dean looked up as Castiel’s bare feet hit the gravel and his face lit up, his smile so bright Castiel’s heart ached to see it.

 

“How did you sleep, Dean?” he asked, his answering smile absolutely dazzling in the bright sunshine.

 

“I fought it, Cas, I didn’t want the day to be over, so I only woke up maybe half an hour ago.” Dean slid over on the bench as Castiel approached, stepping just as gingerly as Dean had, to sit beside him. Castiel’s elbow dripped sweat onto the gravel as he sat down.

 

“I got your note,” Dean said shyly, and Castiel grinned at him, raised an eyebrow,

 

“Did it reach you in time?” His eyes slipped down to Dean’s mouth for a second, watched Dean swallow reflexively, then slid back up to his eyes, glowing jade today, reflecting the sun as it caressed the freckles on the side of his face.

 

Dean swallowed again, nodded. 

 

“But even if it hadn’t Cas, I’d still want - “ Dean hesitated, flushing a little and looking down at the fish while he searched for words. “It’s just… you’re  _ really fucking hot _ , Cas,” he whispered, blushing furiously. “I want you  _ all the time,  _ even if we've just _ - _ “ Dean faltered, meeting Castiel’s eyes as Castiel stood up.

 

“The feeling is mutual, Dean,” Castiel assured him gravely, “I promise you. Not only do I find you, as you say,  _ really fucking hot _ , you are the only man on this earth whom I wish to touch, and the only man whose touch I have ever craved. I find myself at a loss to express the intensity of my desire for you.” 

 

Castiel smiled softly as Dean looked bashfully pleased.

 

“Shall we take painfully brief showers and then touch one another?”

 

Dean snorted, nodded his eager assent, and followed Castiel to the stairs, pausing only to do his _very_ best Sammy puppy-eyes impression until Castiel shook his head with a smile and a gentle eyeroll and handed over the rake so Dean could do the honors, gently erasing all evidence of their visit from the gravel. 

 

Some things were sacred.

  
  


 


	67. The Sofa King

Dean bounced up and down a little, testing the center couch cushion while Castiel sat primly beside the arm of the couch and leaned into the back cushion, his face half scowling in concentration.

 

“It’s too hard,” Dean complained, while Castiel draped his arm over the couch arm, scowled all the way.

 

“The arm is too high,” Castiel declared, “I need to be able to reach over it easily to the side table.”

 

Their salesman nodded eagerly, glanced at the dimensions Castiel had jotted down on a piece of paper again.

 

“I’m sorry, that’s the last one in this section,” he apologized. “I know you said you didn’t want a sectional, but please let me show you something, I think I might have just the thing.”

 

Dean looked to Castiel, who nodded, and they stood up and followed the young man down a hallway into another showroom, full of tastefully appointed, sterile living room setups vastly too large for Castiel’s living room. The salesman led them past several enormous couches and stopped at one that was very nearly a regular couch on one end, but had basically a chaise lounge sticking out of the other, barely a sectional sofa if it weren’t for the additional two feet sticking out into the room making it technically turn the corner.

 

Dean’s eyes lit up, and he almost ran over to test the chaise lounge end, while Castiel remained standing, looking skeptical. He and the salesman watched Dean flow onto the couch, bounce up and down, but it wasn’t until Dean jumped back up to breathe, “Sam would  _ love _ this,” that Castiel’s skeptical face gave way to soft fondness and he deigned to try the end with the arm. He tested the arm height, found it inoffensive, but it wasn’t until Dean sat in the middle section and leaned into Castiel’s side, sighing contentedly, that their salesman smiled a knowing smile and picked up the binder to write down the model number.  He quietly handed Castiel the book of sample upholstery swatches, and Castiel accepted defeat with a nod and a wry smile, leafed through the booklet while Dean closed his eyes and nestled into Castiel’s side, practically purring. 

 

Castiel observed that he clearly had not satisfied Dean’s need for physical intimacy after giving him pleasure earlier, silently filing the - utterly endearing - empirical results away for later reference, but unfortunately time was of the essence today, since this store closed at three. He’d had to cut their post-coital cuddling time shorter than Dean obviously required. Castiel found himself drawn to a rich red, the visual of bending Dean over it extremely appealing, and given that his living room was done in neutrals, a splash of color couldn’t hurt.  He handed the booklet back to the salesman, pointed at what he wanted, and as their salesman rushed away to get the paperwork he slipped an arm around Dean and leaned his lips close to Dean’s ear.

 

“I cannot  _ wait  _ to bend you over this couch,” Castiel whispered, and Dean moaned softly, a shudder rippling through his body as he unconsciously tilted his face up for a kiss. Castiel looked around quickly but they were alone, the store almost at closing time - and Dean had already experienced the consequences of public affection last night and appeared to have changed neither his mind, nor his behavior towards Castiel. 

 

Castiel felt a wave of affection and something else he could not name, something that made his throat hurt and his eyes glaze. He leaned down to press a soft, chaste kiss to Dean’s lips, pressed their foreheads together, consciously did not flinch away when their salesman returned and brightly cleared his throat.

 

Castiel reached up for the paperwork, signed it, handed the young man a credit card. 

 

“Our delivery department will call when your order comes in, sir. Will you be needing removal of your old couch?”

 

Dean opened his eyes and smiled as he snorted, and Castiel shook his head gravely. 

 

“No we will not, thank you, Shawn.”

 

Shawn looked surprised but said nothing, walked them out after they completed the transaction. He watched through the glass door as he flipped the sign from “Open” to “Closed” and turned the lock. This relationship had to be brand new - they hadn’t figured out how they wanted to interact in public yet - but  _ hot damn _ there was chemistry there; he found himself hoping they made it. Already moving in together though, that seemed breakneck -  _ Oh _ . They didn’t get into the same car, instead he watched the ridiculously attractive younger man wait hesitantly by the hideous Lincoln’s driver side door until the ridiculously hot older man visibly made up his mind, leaned forward to grip the young man by the back of his neck, pull him down into a kiss.

 

_ This  _ kiss was not chaste, and Shawn found his eyes widening and his heart rate speeding up -  _ Holy Shit, he should stop watching  _ \- but the older man broke it off, and he watched as the younger man reluctantly nodded goodbye and crossed the parking lot to climb into a gleaming classic Chevy Impala. They turned out of the parking lot in opposite directions, and Shawn found himself wondering, as he typed the order details into his terminal, if anyone would ever look at him the way those two had looked at each other.

 

 


	68. Act Naturally

Dean roared towards the horseshoe with Baby’s window down and his stereo blaring Zeppelin, in the best mood he’d been in for really as long as he could remember. Not since before Dad, anyway, for sure. The ride home to collect Sam for dinner had given him time alone with his thoughts, and he’d spent the entire time reliving every moment he’d spent with Cas since Friday night, unable to believe it was real, and not some sort of extended fantasy. Maybe he was still in a coma.  But Baby’s steering wheel felt solid, the wind rustling his hair as real as any he’d ever experienced, and for that matter he doubted he could have imagined sex with Cas that would have even come close to the real thing. 

 

Dean flipped through his new Top Ten Hottest Things Ever mental rolodex real quicklike and shook his head ruefully. No  _ way  _ he could have imagined anything as hot as Cas. 

 

_ Cas looking down at him, his lips parted, before he leaned down and pushed his tongue into Dean’s mouth _ . 

 

_ Cas riding him, his hand stroking his cock, head thrown back, before the frustration had set in.  _

 

_ Cas, staring up at him and growling, “Come for me, Dean. NOW.”  _

 

_ Cas underneath him, writhing and moaning.  _

 

Dean shuddered, shoved the rolodex away; he had to talk to Sam now, preferably  _ without _ a boner. He turned the radio down as he turned into the Horseshoe and pulled Baby into her parking spot, relaxing for one more minute before he had to go get Sam and change into clean clothes. He’d been wearing these for three days, and even though Cas had lent him a pair of boxers, he felt gross thinking about it. Dean took a deep breath, ran a hand through his hair. Well, no time like the present to face the music.

 

Dean reached for the door handle, but he was startled out of action to hear his passenger door opening, turned in surprise to see Alejandro sliding inside.  Alex’s face was trying for nonchalance, but the set of his mouth was angry, and Dean winced as Alex looked at him sternly, searching his face.

 

“Sam told me you left the bar with Castiel.” 

 

Alejandro’s voice was flat, and Dean wasn’t sure what to do.

 

“Yes, I did,” he answered as neutrally as he could, meeting Alex’s stare defiantly.

 

Alex’s expression flickered between angry and disappointed and fond, and Dean didn’t know what to make of it, so he just waited, uncertain.

 

“Dean, you are a  _ good _ man,” Alex groaned, running a frustrated hand through his jet black hair and taking a deep breath. “You deserve better than to let yourself be used by a man you love who will not love you. A man who will not accept your heart does not deserve your body, and you bring  vergüenza -  shame - on yourself to give it to him.” 

 

Alex reached a hand out to grip Dean’s shoulder, his face agitated, while Dean stared at him, completely speechless. 

 

“This is my fault Dean, I am sorry.  I never would have taken you to this place if I knew Castiel would be there.”

 

Dean snapped his mouth shut from hanging wide open, and shook his head at Alex, smiling gently.

 

“It’s not like that Alex, I promise.”  Dean took a deep breath, trying to even figure out how to start, while Alex stared at him skeptically, waiting.

 

“Cas wasn’t at the bar, Alex, he was out for a run and he saw Baby outside the bar. He came in there dripping in sweat and saw me talking to someone and he - he ran out crying.” Dean looked guilty remembering how he’d left that guy hanging when he ran out after Cas, guiltier yet when he thought about how Cas must have felt.  _ Oh Shit. _

 

“I followed him for blocks Alex, he was running faster than I could catch up to him, he wasn’t even looking where he was going and he took one-way streets the wrong way and I had a hell of a time trying to catch him. But then the thunder started and - “ 

 

Dean hesitated. Castiel’s secrets weren’t his to share, and he looked at Alejandro apologetically.

 

“I’m sorry Alex, I can’t tell you everything. But Cas didn’t mean to turn me down that day, it turns out he wanted me the whole time but he thought I was straight, so when I made a move he thought he imagined it. He said he popped a boner and bolted away from me so I wouldn’t find out. He thought I was straight and it would ruin our friendship if I found out he was gay and that he was - “ Dean’s face broke into a huge smile and he beamed at Alex. “He’s  _ in love with me, _ Alex. He  _ loves me back  _ and we’re together now.”

 

Alex stared at Dean, his face alternating between incredulous and pleased and incredulous again. He was silent for a long moment, studying Dean’s face, and then he broke into a huge smile.

 

“ ¡Felicidades mi amigo!” Alex whooped enthusiastically, then his face grew sly. “Imagine Castiel thinking you were straight, I wonder where he could have gotten that idea.”

  
Dean snorted and punched Alex lightly in the arm. “I didn’t know, okay? De verdad.”

 

“Lo sé. Some hombres who can go either way like you go their whole lives never finding out, and sinceramente Dean, they may be the ones who have it más fácil.” Alex nodded seriously. “Whatever you decide, whether you wish anyone here to know or you wish to make it easier on yourselves, Manuel and I will support you.” He grinned.  “But you  _ must _ know that if you tell even one person here, everyone will know by the end of el dia.”

 

Dean laughed out loud, nodding in agreement, then his face grew serious. 

 

“Alex you are a good friend, I don’t even know how to thank you for how good you’ve been to me.” He met Alex’s eyes, his expression haunted. “Alex, I don’t know a lot about Castiel’s past but the bits I’ve been picking up on are…  _ fucking horrible _ .” 

 

Alex nodded, unsurprised. “It was much worse even ten years ago.”

 

Dean nodded, and continued in a low voice. “Look, Cas’s story isn’t mine to share, but I’m telling you this much because I want you to understand. I don’t think Cas has been with anyone for even longer than that, and I got the sense... Alex - I think that when he  _ was _ seeing anyone back in the day, not one single person ever took him on a  _ date _ . They were ashamed to be  _ seen _ with him.” Dean met Alex’s eyes defiantly now, his shoulders squaring. “I am not going to  _ do _ that to him Alex. I’m  _ fucking proud _ to be with him, and I will _ kill _ anyone who hurts him.”

 

Alejandro’s eyes shone softly, and his smile was dazzlingly bright in the cab of the car.

 

“Then you have my word I will kill them as well, Dean.”

 

Dean’s eyes widened and he protested weakly, “Or maybe just a good ass-kicking…”

 

Alex laughed out loud, shaking his head. 

 

“You give me too much credit Dean. I have not yet killed a man. But for you, if you need me to, I will do this.” 

 

He beamed at Dean and Dean beamed back, until Alex shook his head and muttered, “Dios mío, el sexo debe ser tan caliente,” and Dean, who had lived in the Horseshoe an entire year now, winked saucily and answered, “No te puedes ni imaginar. Qué. Caliente.”

 

Alejandro had the grace to blush a tiny bit, grinned, and let himself out of the passenger side, while Dean climbed out of the driver’s side, nodded at Alex, and took the crumbling stairs to his apartment two at a time.

  
  


***

  
  


Dean threw open the door to the apartment hard enough to startle Sam, who was lounging on most of the couch with a textbook across his knees and half a beer beside him on the coffee table.

 

“Oh,  _ nice! _ ” Dean exclaimed, “studying done  _ right _ .” 

 

Sam snorted as Dean slammed the door shut and stripped down to boxers on his way across the room, reaching into their shitty dresser to pull out a fresh shirt and jeans.

 

“You’ll be disappointed to know that beer is from last night,” Sam grinned, “and good morning to you, too, Sunshine.”

 

“Alcohol abuse!” Dean hollered playfully, buttoning his jeans and pulling on a clean henley over his head.

 

“Nice skivvies.” Sam was smirking, and Dean smirked back.

 

“ _ Everything  _ of Cas’s is nice, Sam.” Dean waggled his eyebrows and Sam made a face.

 

“Gross! Dude, I’m happy for you, and for Cas, too, but you know I draw the line at details, okay? Seriously.” 

 

Dean snickered, his face positively evil as he started “But for real, there’s this  _ thing  _ he can do with his tongue, Sammy…”  but Sam already had his fingers in his ears and shook his head while yelling “LA LA LA I CAN’T HEAAAAR YOU” while Dean tackled him, laughing, to try to pull an arm away from Sam’s head. The ensuing scuffle spilled the leftover beer and all wrestling stopped immediately as Sam pulled his laptop to safety and Dean scrambled to get paper towels.

 

Crisis averted, Dean plopped down on the couch next to Sam. Sam looked wary for a moment, but Dean didn’t try to share any details, he just sat silently for a minute, considering. A long moment passed with Dean staring into the middle distance, and Sam quietly watching him, waiting.

 

“This is the happiest I’ve ever felt, Sam,” Dean finally admitted.

 

“I know. I’m really happy for you Dean,” Sam answered softly. “I really mean it Dean, I’m not just saying it. You deserve to be happy and Cas makes you happy. He’s good for you. You make him happy too, you’re really good together.  I mean, now that you two used your big-boy words and sorted your shit out.” Sam grinned, easily ducking Dean’s gentle attempt at a punch.

 

“How long have you known?” Dean asked, musing.

 

“I knew about him since Thanksgiving. But I wasn’t sure about you until New Years. Dude. You fell asleep  _ holding _ him, and I’ve never seen you sleep so peacefully in my life.”

 

Dean grinned ruefully. “Yeah, you’ve got me there. I woke up in the middle of the night sweating buckets and I still wouldn’t let go because I knew it would never happen again and I didn’t want it to ever end.” Dean’s face slowly transitioned into incredulity and then landed on delight. “It  _ did _ happen again,” he breathed, “and it’s going to happen  _ forever _ .”  His voice cracked on the last word and his eyes got all shiny and Sam shifted over on the couch to throw his arms around his brother and squeeze really tight as Dean sniffed a little and fought to compose himself.  His arms came up awkwardly at the angle they were sitting to hug back and he hid his face in Sam’s giant shoulder for a moment until it was plenty long enough, and then he sighed and pulled away, pretending it was nothing.

 

“Come on, we’ve got to get back to Cas’s to have dinner and figure out our work plan. Cas said you could choose dinner, just text him what kind of takeout you want.”

 

Sam’s face lit up like Christmas morning. “What are my choices?” 

 

“Whatever you want. If you don’t text by four-thirty he’s getting us Chinese though, so you better hurry up.”

 

Sam grinned and reached for his phone. “Okay, now I want Chinese, but I want to make sure he orders me a couple extra egg rolls for lunch tomorrow.”

 

“Uh huh. Text him from the car.”

 

***

 

Three men pored over paperwork at Castiel’s kitchen table, Chinese food containers and empty beer bottles in various states of disarray forming a loose cityscape in the center of the table. Sam was still eating of course, but he was also running the show, an outline in front of him in his notebook.

 

“Alright,” Sam ticked off, waving a pair of cheap wooden chopsticks like a pointer, “So we agree our place is safe. Everyone allowed to be there is _ in it _ with us and no one there would ever spill the beans to anyone at work, even if they’re dicks about, y’know.” He glanced from Castiel to Dean and back, and they nodded silent agreement.

 

“Cas’s place is fine of course, but what’s the overlap with work people out here? Do any of your coworkers live out this way Cas?”

 

Castiel shook his head no, but his face held doubt. “I don’t think so, but of course if we have a game night or something…”

 

“Yes, of course, you’d have to act cool then. But Anna is the only one at work who knows, you said?”

 

Castiel and Dean both nodded, and Sam dropped his chopsticks on his plate in favor of his pen to make another note. “Okay. So the three of us, obviously, Anna, and Alex and Manuel of course, and let’s face it everyone at home the second one person finds out, but they won’t leak. Did you guys tell anyone this weekend?”

 

Dean looked at Castiel, and Castiel nodded slowly. “Ellen Harvelle. And she probably told Jo. But they won’t tell a soul.”

 

Sam made a note, while Dean muttered “The sales guy at the furniture store probably figured it out.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Nothing.” Dean ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “This  _ sucks _ . I don’t  _ care _ who knows.”

 

Castiel reached for Dean’s hand, squeezed it. “It’s not just about the two of us Dean, you need insurance for Sam. And not to be indelicate, but I have a number of stock options waiting to vest. I stand to lose a great deal of money if I am fired.”

 

Dean sighed and nodded. “Read me that thing again, Sam? Is it really that cut and dry?”

 

Sam sighed and reached for the employee handbook as Castiel handed it over, pointing to the part they’d circled.

 

“Procedures Section, item Five”, Sam read. “ _ Employee off-duty conduct is generally regarded as private, as long as such conduct does not create problems within the workplace. An exception to this principle, however, is romantic or sexual relationships between supervisors and subordinates. _ ”

 

Sam looked up, his tone pedantic but gentle as he lectured Dean. “We agreed that Cas outranks you by several promotion levels and even though you are technically in different departments, he has used that rank to successfully push for changes to contracts that you wrote, and that makes it a grey area and it isn’t worth the risk to push it.”

 

Dean sighed, and Sam continued. “Procedures Section, item Six:  _ Any supervisor, manager, executive or other company official in a sensitive or influential position with Find A Table dot com must disclose the existence of a romantic or sexual relationship with another co-worker. Disclosure may be made to the individual's immediate supervisor or the director of HR. Find A Table dot com will review the circumstances to determine whether any conflict of interest exists. _ ”

 

“We agreed that since this is taboo man-on-man action - ” Sam grinned as Castiel snorted and Dean rolled his eyes, ” - that despite the previous HR not pushing the issue, we weren’t going to risk it with the new team since the downsizing, right Cas?” 

 

Castiel nodded. “I remember hearing talk about Jesse having to fight to keep his benefits when the newest team came in. The new head of HR is an evangelical Christian, and she tried to cut his partner off with their policy changes, but finally agreed to grandfathering him in. Since they didn’t cut him off, and it was so hard to find a job a couple years ago, none of the other employees dared do anything more than grumble amongst themselves.”

 

Dean looked furious, but he deflated into resignation as Castiel rubbed his thumb slowly across the back of Dean’s hand.

 

Sam looked up at Dean’s huff of air, then back down at the paperwork in his hand. “And the relevant content in item seven, I believe, was  _  “Failure to cooperate, - ”  _ blah blah blah _ \- “may be deemed insubordination and result in disciplinary action up to and including termination.“ _

 

Dean scowled, but it really was right there in all its black and white photocopied glory. His eyes met Sam’s; his brother’s forehead furrowed in concern and his face pleading for Dean to play ball. “We  _ need  _ this job, Dean,” Sam insisted. You  _ have _ to play it cool at work, even though Cas and I know you don’t care who knows. Cas is okay with it, aren’t you Cas?”

 

Castiel hesitated, and Dean turned to him immediately, searching his face while Castiel deliberated. Sam turned to Castiel as well, concern playing over his features, while Castiel collected his thoughts. When he finally spoke, it was Dean he answered, even though Sam had posed the question.

 

“ _ I am not ashamed anymore,  _ Dean,” Castiel said softly, Dean’s eyes widening as he spoke. “My whole life, I’ve been ashamed to be the way I am. Everyone I ever knew who found out was ashamed of me, and everyone I met, even the men I - no,  _ especially _ the men I - “ he faltered, took a deep breath. 

 

“I thought I left all of that behind me when I decided to be alone, but I realize now that I didn’t. When we went out this weekend I discovered I still fear the cruel things people will say, I still feel that same terror when the looks come, but  _ I am not ashamed anymore _ . I am  _ proud _ that someone might look at you and think  _ you _ chose  _ me _ , Dean.”  Castiel’s eyes glistened in the soft light of his kitchen, and Dean’s did too, staring at Castiel’s face as he reached his other hand to grasp Dean’s hand in both of his, lift it to his lips for a moment.

 

“ _ You _ weren’t afraid, Dean. I know you haven’t seen what I’ve seen, but you got a taste in the parking garage and - “ Dean’s nostrils flared in remembered fury, and Castiel watched his face in awe. “You weren’t afraid, Dean, you were  _ angry.  _ You make me feel like… like  _ there isn’t anything wrong with me _ . Like there’s something wrong with  _ them _ for not seeing that the way I feel about you is - “ Castiel sighed and smiled softly, breathed, “ _ wonderful _ .”

 

Neither of them noticed Sam quietly wiping his eyes as Castiel continued speaking, his gaze traveling fondly over Dean’s soft smile, and then back up to his eyes.

 

“So yes, I will do this. I will pretend I do not love you so that we can keep our jobs, Dean. I will not stand too close to you and I will not touch you and I will not look at you for too long and I will be careful when I speak, careful not to act familiar or too friendly or any of the other thousand things that would give us away in the building where we both earn our livings. But _ I am not ashamed _ of you, or of how I feel about you, and I  _ never _ want you to feel like I am.  _ Promise me _ .”

 

Dean didn’t trust his voice so he nodded instead, his eyes shining, and found himself helpless to keep from crossing the space between them, desperately reaching for Castiel, crawling into his lap to press their foreheads together and then their mouths, his eyes spilling over as Castiel’s arms wrapped around him fiercely, his answering kisses tender but far more chaste than what Dean was going for, because even if Dean didn’t appear to care, Castiel was keenly aware of Sam’s presence.

 

When Sam cleared his throat Dean pulled up, reluctantly climbing off of Castiel’s lap with a heavy sigh and practically a pout.

 

“ _ Dude _ ,” Sam protested, and Dean shrugged.

 

“Get used to it Sammy,” he grinned, and Castiel laughed out loud.

 

“ _ Dean. _ We are not going to traumatize your brother.”

 

“ _ Thank _ you, Cas. At least you picked a guy with some decorum, Dean.” Sam grinned ear to ear as Dean replied.

 

“Eh, I’ll break him of it soon enough.” Dean’s eyes were sparkling as he met Castiel’s.

 

“You most certainly will  _ not _ \- “

 

“CHILDREN. Are we done here?” Sam reached for another bite of lo mein, the currently room temperature of the noodles absolutely zero dissuasion.

 

“You tell us,” Dean retorted.

 

“Well, we trust everyone who already knows. You’ll have to decide who else you tell around what’s safe for work. We have a basic idea of work-related locales where you need to play it cool and safe spaces where you can be as gooey as you want. I think we’re good to go.”

 

Dean glanced at the clock, then at Sam.  “Speaking of, I know we have to head home pretty soon but can you study or something for a few minutes?”

 

“Eww,  _ gross _ . Yes, just go.” Sam grinned as Dean practically _ ran  _ across the living room, pausing only to glance at Cas to make sure he was going to follow, and then disappearing up the stairs. Castiel looked at Sam apologetically, his face flushing crimson, and Sam shook his head. “Cas, I’m super happy for you guys,” he murmured. “I’m just teasing, and I will  _ always _ tease, he’s my brother.  _ Go _ , I’m fine, and you guys are going to have a really long week before you can see each other again.”

 

Castiel’s eyes widened as the truth of that sank in, and he nodded at Sam and followed after Dean, his face still crimson from Sam  _ knowing. _

 

Sam smiled softly after his brother and his friend for several seconds, then he reached for his headset, shoved some food out of the way, and set his laptop up on the table because there was no couch.

 

He hadn’t even dared ask what had happened to it. He absolutely  _ did not _ want to hear the answer.

 

 

 


	69. Eight Days A Week

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that due to an egregious publishing error on my part, Monday of this week already saw the release of three new chapters that were accidentally left out just before Thanksgiving, now numbered 20,21 and 22. (All subsequent chapters have been renumbered.)  
> Please take a moment to add those to your headcanon at your earliest convenience, if you haven't already.  
> Now where were we?  
> RIGHT. :-)

On Monday night, fidgeting uncharacteristically in his folding metal seat and paying absolutely no attention to the counselor as she spoke, Castiel realized Sam had been right. He hadn’t even seen Dean once all day, his office had been empty at lunch when Castiel shyly knocked on the door, and the brief text he had sent as he finished eating his solitary sandwich  

 

\- “ _I already miss you_ ” - 

 

had received no response until three hours later 

 

\- “ _FIVE fucking meetings today so sorry talk soon_ _:-*_ ” -

 

and much as he appreciated the kiss emoji, once he looked it up, he had heard nothing else all day. He sighed and tried to pay attention, just as his counselor asked him a question.

 

“I’m sorry?” he answered.

 

“I _said,_ ” she repeated, smiling, “Did you get your homework done this week, Castiel?”

 

“Oh, no, I’m sorry ma’am, I did not. I was distracted.”

 

“I asked you to please call me Kit. And that’s not like you Castiel. I hope it was a good distraction at least?” She smiled kindly, and the rest of the group leaned forward on their respective chairs, keenly interested. Castiel had _never_ not done his homework before.

 

Castiel looked around at the curious faces of the people he spent every Monday evening with, most of them for the last twelve months now, and then back up at his counselor, and realized this might be something the counselor at the very least needed to know. A life change that he intended to make permanent, for as long as Dean would have him.

 

“Yes, Miss Kittredge,” he said, hesitating, then he squared his shoulders and sat up straight, took a deep breath, and said the words out loud. “It was a very pleasant distraction indeed. I have entered into a new romantic relationship. For the first time in my life, I am _in love_.”  

 

Castiel smiled shyly as the room erupted into cheers, several of the other soldiers leaping up to clap him on the back, physical contact that had never happened before but he didn’t mind this time. Miss Kittredge’s smile was completely sincere as she congratulated him and reached out to touch his shoulder - not the protocol, but a sweet human moment that Castiel accepted with gratitude and a huge smile that reached every corner of his eyes.

 

The counseling session was unrecoverable after that, their mysterious and completely private Castiel was IN LOVE, and by the most astute powers of deduction, had probably gotten IT ON _very recently_. The room was all a-titter with well wishes and questions about the lucky lady and Castiel accepted congratulations and smiles and refused all questions with a soft smile and a shake of his head. Finally, he held up his hands, smiling, and the hubbub died down enough for him to speak.

 

Castiel looked around the circle of faces at these men with whom he had shared the most terrifying of his experiences, the most humiliating of his episodes of terror. No one here had batted an eye at any of those things. They all had similar stories to tell; no one here hadn’t spent time curled in terror, pissing themselves in fear. This was harder. 

 

Castiel shut his eyes, so he wouldn’t be able to see their faces. _Dean loved him_ , _and Dean was strong and brave_ . _Dean didn’t care who knew, and Castiel wasn’t ashamed anymore. He was proud to love a man like Dean._ Castiel took a deep breath, and leapt from the cliff face.

 

“His name is Dean.”

 

Time stood still. There was a complete absence of sound, like a vacuum had sucked all sound from the universe except for the rushing of blood in Castiel’s ears. There was nothing he could do now. This had been a safe space, but he had ruined it. He would have to find a new group and keep his mouth shut. Castiel’s tightly shut eyes stung with tears but he ignored them to breathe slowly; it wouldn’t be the first time he had wept in front of these men, but it would clearly be the last. 

 

Castiel kept his shoulders square by sheer force of will as the set of his jaw hardened and his arms crossed defensively over his chest. When he opened his eyes they were unfocused, tears slipping from them, and it took him a moment to realize that Miss Kittredge was standing in front of him, blocking his view of the rest of the room. Her eyes glistened in the dim fluorescent glow of the Unitarian Universalist church basement, and when she spoke her voice was as gentle as he’d ever heard it.

 

“Castiel, that is the bravest thing I have ever seen you do. _I am so proud of you_.”

 

She spoke to the room at large without turning around, the volume of her voice barely needing to increase at all to carry in the dead silence.

 

“Life is hard enough, gentlemen. Any one of you who has a problem with what Castiel has just shared with us may leave right now, and join another group that I do not run. I will not abide bigotry. This is a _safe space_.”

 

There was no sound of chairs scraping, no sound at all as she stepped away, returned to her chair and sat down. Castiel scowled at the circle of silent faces, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve, as one by one the shock on their faces relaxed into smiles of encouragement and support.

 

“Good for you, man, I’m happy for you!”

 

“Wow, that must have been hard to share, good job Castiel!”

 

“Holy Shit, I bet you don’t have to buy him flowers or dinner to get any, must be _niiice_.” - that last with a huge smirk, drawing a surprised snort from Castiel as his face transitioned to relief and gratitude.

 

The general hubbub had died down a bit when the quietest man in their group, a newcomer who never said anything more than the bare minimum to technically meet the requirements for participating, cleared his throat.

 

They all stared at him, practically holding their breaths, as he met Castiel’s eyes and spoke softly.

 

“I got discharged under don’t ask don’t tell. You’d think remembering the IED would be what fucks me up, but I was lonely and stupid and I gave in to a moment of weakness and now I have nightmares about getting caught and discharged every night. I can’t sleep.”

 

Castiel nodded. It had been months since the last time but he still got those occasionally, waking in cold terror sweats that drenched his sheets. “I still get those, Stephen,” he admitted softly, “but not as frequently as I used to.”

 

“How did you get them to stop?” Stephen’s voice was desperate, the dark circles under his eyes especially pronounced today.

 

“When it was really bad,” Castiel said simply, “I took the pills.” 

 

Stephen nodded slowly, his face reluctant. “The guys in my unit made fun of soldiers who needed meds. Called them pussies or pansies…” his voice trailed off, wincing, but Castiel wasn’t offended, just cocked his head pensively.

 

“Scientifically speaking, we’re just walking bags of chemicals on legs. I see no shame in adjusting the mix when my body decides to misfire the wrong synapses and then manufacture a lifetime’s worth of adrenaline in one night. It’s hardly weakness to treat an injury, correct? When your arm was torn up and the medic put a cast on it, the guys in your unit drew phalluses on it and laughed, but no one called you a name, right?” 

 

Stephen nodded, smirking, as did a number of other faces around the circle.

 

“Well, then,” Castiel offered, smiling, “if your brain is injured and tells your body to manufacture terror, sometimes the cast comes in the shape of a bottle of pills. Sure they make you catatonic, but it’s still better than a night of sweating and pissing the bed, right?” 

 

Stephen still wasn’t sure, so Castiel steeled his face, deadpanned seriously, “I will be glad to draw a penis on the bottle for you Stephen, if it helps.”

 

That got the laugh he was hoping for, the basement echoing with chuckles and snickers, even Miss Kittredge grinning and rolling her eyes. She provided a pen, Stephen pulled a still sealed bottle of pills from a jacket pocket, and several other soldiers found similar bottles on their persons as more pens were produced and tiny dicks were autographed over names and under pharmacy numbers, the creativity at turning letters into stick figures engaged in carnal acts truly impressive. 

 

Artwork was admired, bottles found their home pockets, and the group broke up to pull on coats and grin at each other, men making their way over to shake Castiel’s hand and earnestly congratulate him again on their way out. He found himself touched, and heartened, and even trembling a little as the last of them filed out, Stephen’s mumbled gratitude particularly moving. He turned to go, but his counselor stopped him with a hand on his arm.

 

“Castiel, you took a huge leap of faith today, and your doing so helped Stephen share. I am _so proud of you._ I know I’m not supposed to - I shouldn’t even ask, but…” She looked up at him, her face hopeful. “May I, just this once, not as your counselor, but just as myself, may I hug you?”

 

Castiel’s smile, as he opened his arms to her, was wide and bright, and he gently wrapped his arms around her as she buried her face in his shoulder and squeezed him tight, released her when she let go to step away to a professional distance again.

 

“Thank you Castiel,” she murmured, then she had a thought. “Do you need help with how to explain your PTSD to your new partner? I have several pamphlets with ways to start the conversation, or you could just give him the pamphlets to read?”

 

Castiel shook his head no, his smile soft and his eyes far away. 

 

“He already knows. He has already helped me through several episodes.” His eyes returned to Miss Kittredge’s face, read the question on it, and his face grew shy. “He… he held me through the panic attacks,” he whispered, “and it helped more than anything else ever has.”

 

Miss Kittredge’s hand flying over her mouth and her huge eyes _tried_ to remain professional, but the gasp had already escaped and she gave up and took her hand away, grinning at Castiel as he raised an eyebrow at her. 

 

“I’m sorry Castiel, that’s just the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.” Castiel smiled at her, shaking his head with the barest hint of an eyeroll as she waved her hand dismissively. “Go on, get home to your man.” 

 

Castiel felt no need to explain their current living circumstances, so he smiled and nodded, collected his coat from the chair where he’d set it for the hug, and made his escape to his car.

  


***

  


Castiel fired up his Old Lady and pulled out his phone just in case. Despite it being well past seven, there was no text from Dean, but Castiel shoved his phone and his disappointment back into his pocket to think about their weekend together instead, smiling as he pulled away from the curb; not even sure where to start there were such riches to treasure.

 

_Dean, screaming and bucking under his body, pulsing in his throat in the Impala, the first time giving someone pleasure had ever set his body on fire._

 

_Dean, his eyes so wide and dark with desire the first time Castiel had eased himself over his cock, before the frustration._

 

_Dean, thrusting into his mouth and his ass at the same pace, the filthy heat of it, the first time he’d ever experienced an orgasm by someone else’s hand._

 

_Dean, kneeling on the kitchen tile._

 

Castiel adjusted himself in his trousers, dammit he was still half an hour from home.

 

_Dean, staring up at him in awe as he demanded “Dean! Come for me!”_

 

_Dean, obeying._

 

That one rippled pleasure throughout his entire body, and he set it aside for later, it was too distracting while he was driving. His mind wandered to Saturday night and made a home there, sighing contentedly.

 

_Dean, staring at him in the soft yellow light of Harvelle’s diner, telling him they were on a date._

 

_Dean, telling him he wasn’t going to be seeing anyone else._

 

_Dean, a fork poised in his hand, shuddering, as Castiel’s eyes swept over his body, his arousal as palpable as though Castiel had been holding it in his hand._

 

_Dean, weeping and begging Castiel to let him come._

 

_Dean, crying out that all he wanted was to belong to him._

 

_Dean, sighing underneath him as he caressed every inch of his gorgeous body, every caress a claim._

 

Castiel let the tears come, no one could see him in his car doing sixty-five on the highway. He wept without a sound, tears running down his face, until his mind wandered again, and then he groaned instead, still so many miles from home.

 

_Dean, making him admit he wanted it to hurt._

 

_Dean, *enjoying* hurting him, his eyes dark and his lips curled in pleasure as he gripped Castiel’s hands, their fingers laced together, Dean's biceps flexing as he slammed home again and again, swallowing Castiel’s moans and leaning down to whisper such filthy things into his ear._

 

_The intensity of that orgasm, his body twitching now in remembered pleasure._

 

_Dean, whispering to him as he sobbed._

 

Castiel shuddered, wincing as nerve endings pulsed in echoes of remembered pleasure, reminding him in no uncertain terms he was still _very_ sore; but it had been. _So. Worth it._ He was so close to home, just minutes away and he could take care of the tension screaming in his body… His mind slipped to Sunday night and he sighed in pleasure, taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out as he carefully maneuvered the narrow streets towards home, one hand impatiently pressing on his erection over his black wool pants.

 

_Dean, still in his boxers, already clambering onto his bed when Castiel pushed the bedroom door open, his face crimson from Sam being downstairs._

 

_Dean, smiling up at him as he undressed uncertainly to just his underwear, since Dean still had his on._

 

_Dean, holding his arms out imploringly._

 

_Dean, sighing in pleasure as Castiel climbed into his arms._

 

_Dean, wrapping his body around Castiel, pressing his chest to Castiel’s back, wrapping his arms around him to squeeze tight and sigh into his hair, press soft kisses to his neck._

 

_“I’ll miss this the most,” he’d whispered, sighing and tracing the hard lines of Castiel’s stomach absently with one finger. “It’s going to hurt to sleep without you.”_

 

Castiel’s eyes stung freshly now as he remembered how he’d felt, how he’d fought to turn around in Dean’s embrace, holding his face in both hands, kissing Dean’s beautiful mouth, and when his body responded with arousal, groaning and grinding against him in quiet desperation; Dean responding with soft kisses and then nothing soft at all, silent like teenagers with parents nearby, collapsing when they were spent to go back to holding each other just as they had started. 

 

It had hurt so much when Dean had reluctantly let go, cleaned them up, kissed him goodbye. “Just stay here,” he’d whispered. “I’ll tell Sam you fell asleep so you don’t have to come downstairs with your face on fire.” Castiel had flushed crimson anyway at the thought and Dean had laughed for joy, caressed his burning cheeks. Castiel had smiled, his heart breaking, as Dean leaned down to kiss him softly one last time and then slipped out the door. _The low murmur of conversation downstairs, the sound of an Impala roaring away a few minutes later._

 

Castiel pulled into his driveway with his heart aching and his cock aching in a completely different way. He parked his Old Lady, shut the garage door, and took the stairs two at a time, unlocked his door with unsteady hands so he could race upstairs, his first orgasm already cresting by the time he had his trousers down and his fingers wrapped around his cock. He groaned and added lubricant, kept stroking himself without pause, his second orgasm rapidly following the first, and he spent that refractory period languidly stroking himself thinking about Dean until he could take another, and another.

 

Well over an hour later when Castiel was finally sated enough to pull on his bathrobe and wander down to the kitchen to root around in the refrigerator for leftovers, his phone finally held messages from Dean. He read them while he waited for the microwave to beep, hauled his plate to the table.

 

_“Holy fuck I JUST got home so much work nobody did ANY of it they just pushed all my meetings 2 this week & left all the fucking paperwork 4 me 2!” _

 

Castiel checked the timestamp. The message was from after nine o’ clock.

 

_“i couldn’t sleep for hrs thinking about u last night ;-)”_

 

_“i had 2 take a shower @ 2am. sam was not amused :-)”_

 

_“is it 2 needy 2 call u 2 say goodnight?”_

 

_“i don’t care i’m doing it.”_

 

Castiel had missed a call. _Damnation._ He dropped his plate and fork on the table and dialed Dean’s number, but it went to voicemail. He didn’t leave a message, dialed again - _he could not go a whole day without hearing Dean’s voice_ \- but it was Sam who picked up.

 

“Hey, Cas.” Sam’s voice was smiling. “Dean’s in the shower. Can I have him call you back?”

 

Castiel gulped, cleared his throat guiltily. 

 

“Yes please. I mean, Hello, Sam, it’s nice to talk to you, but yes please have Dean call me.”

 

Sam laughed. “I’m not offended, Cas, he can’t think about anything else right now either. I’ll have him call you whenever he fiiinally gets out of there.”

 

Castiel could hear the eyeroll and the gentle teasing, and he blushed furiously in solidarity with Dean, helpless to mount any sort of defense.

 

“I can feel you blushing from here, Cas.”

 

“ _Goodnight_ , Sam.”

 

“Love you too, Cas.”

 

The line went dead, but Castiel could _see_ Sam’s fond teasing smile hanging in the air like the Cheshire Cat, _feel_ his grin as if Sam were standing in the same room, and he shook his head fondly. He loved Sam very much and it was sweet to hear Sam say he loved him, even in jest, but the part that really caught his attention, the part that had him leaving his plate untouched and grabbing his phone to drop it on the last step towards the bedroom that got reception, to rush back upstairs and leave the door open while he collapsed back into bed, squirting more lubricant into his palm, was that Dean was in the shower, _thinking about him right now_.

 

He made it, just barely, crying out just as the phone rang, and answering it on the fourth ring with his left hand, his breath still short and his body still rippling with aftershocks of pleasure.

 

“Are you alright, Cas?” Dean’s voice was… knowing, but Castiel didn’t blush this time, his pupils just darkened and he sighed into the receiver, sitting on the bottom step of his stairs in his bathrobe and leaning back to cradle the receiver beside his head as he carefully didn’t touch anything with his still slick right hand.

 

“I am very well, Dean, thank you. I was just thinking about you and masturbating.”

 

The sound of Dean choking was intensely satisfying, and Castiel treasured every moment of it.

 

Eventually Dean found his voice, whispered, “ _me too._ ”

 

“I know. Sam told me.”

 

“He did NOT.”

 

Castiel grinned into the receiver. “Well, he said you were taking a long shower, and I extrapolated from there. I understand you’re in the same room with Sam so you can’t respond Dean, but despite having just spent well over an hour previously engaged in precisely the same activity, I was so aroused by the thought of you touching yourself and perhaps thinking of me I dropped my dinner and returned to my bedroom immediately.

 

There was a long silence at the other end of the line, a door, another door, and Dean’s voice sounded different when he answered. Still soft, but resonating from an enclosed space.

 

“You’re killing me, Cas. _Fuuuck_ I want to watch you.” Dean laughed, and Castiel smiled softly.

 

“Tell Baby I miss her.”

 

“Yeah, she misses you too.” Dean caressed Baby’s dash fondly. “Over an _hour?_ ”

 

“I don’t have a roommate, Dean, and you’ve given me _so much_ to think about.”  Castiel was still smiling, Dean could hear it, but his voice carried a note of shy uncertainty now, enough apology in his tone that Dean’s chest ached to hear it. “I _have_ recently been called insatiable by someone I trust.”

 

Dean’s laugh was fond, and a little wistful, somehow. “I meant it as a compliment, Cas. It makes me _really happy_ that you’ll go as many times as I can get it up. Seriously. I wanted to be with you no matter what you turned out to be like in the bedroom, but I had _no idea_ what to expect.  I figured worst case couple times a week, or hell even a month - that would’ve hurt but whatever, I was ready to, uh, deal with any... uh, overflow on my own time - I just wanted to _be_ with you... but your sex drive is like the happiest accidental bonus jackpot score of my _life_. ”

 

“Really?”

 

“Really.”

 

Castiel’s chest bloomed warmth at Dean’s reassurance, and Dean’s words wrapped around him like a blanket, soft and warm and… _Oh_. He wrapped his still slick hand around his swelling cock and groaned.

 

“ _Oh My God. Cas are you -_ “ Dean’s breath made a strangled noise as he listened to Castiel’s breathing speed up, listened to him moan into the receiver.

 

“ _Cas I can’t - not here - Oh god you’re killing me -_ “

 

Castiel’s breathing was labored, his eyes glazed, and he spoke with difficulty. 

 

“Do you want me to - _hngg_ \- stop?”

 

“ _No! Don’t stop, don’t stop, where are you?_ ”

 

“I’m sitting on the bottom of the stairs Dean, because the couch hasn’t been - _aaah_ \- delivered yet. I’m wearing only my bathrobe, which is of course wide open. When you called, I had just come thinking about you pleasuring yourself in your shower, and my hand is still - _hngg_ \- lubricated.”

 

Dean’s breathing sounded strained, and he groaned in frustration as Castiel stopped speaking.

 

“ _Fuuuck I want to be there so bad, Cas. Please don’t stop. FUCK I need to hear you come._ ”

 

Castiel groaned, his hand moving more rapidly now, speech becoming more difficult.

 

“I wish you were here as well, Dean. I like when you watch me.”

 

Dean groaned low and desperate, his frustration palpable.

 

“ _Pretend that’s my hand_ ,” he whispered.

 

Castiel’s breath came fast and shallow; he sounded close now.

 

“ _Hold the phone with your shoulder, and use your fingernails on your nipple, hard like you like. Hard enough to hurt_ ,” Dean instructed, his voice dropping to a husky growl as he willed himself across space and time and into Castiel’s lap.

 

Castiel did as he was told, using his thumb and middle finger to almost break the skin and then twist harshly, crying out as he came dry, his orgasm so intense it veered into pain. He panted into the phone, listening to Dean breathing almost as loud as he was.

 

“ _Cas I have to go take another shower. Right now._ ” Dean’s voice was strained; Castiel could hear the sound of the car door slamming and feet on stairs. Castiel knew _exactly_ how Dean felt. 

 

“Good night, Dean,” he breathed, still not sure if it was okay to say _I love you_.

 

“ _Fuuuck. Good night Cas.”_

 

Castiel listened to dead air for a minute while his heart slowed, then he pulled his robe shut with his clean hand and wandered into the kitchen to wash his hands and microwave his dinner again. His body couldn’t decide if it was sated or desperate to go again thinking about Dean in the shower, but that last orgasm had _hurt._

 

Castiel sighed, grabbed a beer and his plate, wandered over to sit cross-legged on the floor of the living room where a couch would go. He flipped on the TV with the remote sitting on the coffee table and set his beer way over to the right on the coffee table so it didn’t block his view of the television.

 

It was going to be a very long week, he could already tell.

  


***

  


On Tuesday, Castiel didn’t even check Dean’s office at lunch time. Instead, he went to lunch with Anna, to sit in her car on the street. He’d shaken his head when she tried to talk to him Monday, missed her attempt to pull him to lunch while he was sniffing around Dean’s office, rushed off to counseling, but she was literally vibrating every time she caught his eye and he didn’t actually want her to explode. He owed her an explanation, and his gratitude as well.

 

Castiel couldn’t resist the urge to tease a little, and he managed to carefully open his sandwich wrapper, examine it for pickles, and open his chip bag, contemplatively chew an entire chip and swallow, before Anna exploded, mock pummeling his arm and hollering, “OH MY GOD TELL ME EVERYTHING YOU ASSHOLE” with the biggest smile he’d ever seen on her face. 

 

Castiel grinned at her and put his chips down, rubbed his arm exaggeratedly where she’d punched him.

 

“I don’t even know where to start, Anna.”  


“START AT THE BEGINNING CAS!”

 

Castiel laughed, grinning at her as he popped another chip in his mouth, chewed pensively.

 

“Alright, alright, we only have twenty minutes, let’s see what I can do.”

 

He started at his Friday night run. Baby. Dean in the gay bar. He gave no context for his panic attack, just related the experience as it had happened, Anna’s eyes enormous, her sandwich forgotten. He described the argument in the car, the misunderstanding, the discovery that they wanted one another the whole time. Castiel smiled softly and stopped there, adding only that he and Dean had spent the weekend together and that they were now - he hesitated on the word monogamous, Dean had said that was private, but it was _important_ and he wanted Anna to understand the magnitude of his joy, so he said _exclusive_ \- boyfriends, and that no one at work could find out.

 

“Thank you Anna. I wouldn’t have recognized what had happened if you hadn’t told me to wait for him to make a move, I wouldn’t have recognized it for what it was when I saw him talking to someone else, nor would I have understood that I had missed it. I honestly don’t know what would have happened, but… Oh, Anna, _I’m so happy_.”

 

Anna spilled his chips when she threw her arms around him, her cheeks wet, but Castiel didn’t mind, just hugged her as long as he wanted, refusing to let go until she giggled, kissing the top of her head as she laughed and finally releasing her, smiling at her fondly.

 

“Not going to tell HR then?” she remarked, helping Castiel to pick up chips and put them back in the bag, garbage now. “Solid move. They got all evangelical up in there and it is _not_ a good scene. Poor Jesse - “

 

“I heard, and that did factor into our decision. Thank you in advance for your discretion.”

 

“Of _course._ Oh Cas, I am _so happy for you guys_ , I don’t even know what to say.” Anna grinned and picked up her sandwich, took a huge bite, spoke with her mouth full. “Race you.”

 

Castiel laughed out loud; managed to eat about a third of his sandwich, chewing slowly and methodically, by the time she was done. He reached into her bag of chips to snake a chip and she laughed and handed him the bag.

 

“I’m all good, I’m going to regret that, I can already tell. Come on, we’re late, you’ll have to eat the rest at your desk.”

 

“Yes ma’am. Please don’t hurt me.”

 

Anna snorted and punched him again and he gallantly pretended it hurt, climbed out of her miniature car to walk her to her cubicle and pull out her chair like a gentleman, and returned to his cubicle almost not disappointed he wouldn’t see Dean today, either.

 

Dean didn’t call him until after ten, exhausted beyond measure, and Castiel had already gone for a run and watered his garden and eaten dinner and masturbated until it hurt by then, so he took the phone into his garden to sit on the bench under the twinkling fairy lights so Dean could hear the fountain and say goodnight to the poets, too.  

 

Dean was so charmed his chest hurt and he whispered to the boys to keep their Dad good company until he could see him again, yawning more and more frequently as they just listened to each other breathe and the music of the fountain until Dean started to snore gently. Castiel whispered goodnight and hung up, trusting Sam to take care of Dean’s phone, which he could almost feel happening as Sam gently pried Dean’s phone from his hand, plugged it in, and pulled a blanket over his brother, still in his dress shirt and slacks.

 

Castiel turned off the lights and raked the stones by the light of the real stars and the moon, brushed his teeth, and collapsed into bed with the twinkle of fairy lights and the sound of Dean's soft snoring replaying over and over in his mind. He could almost feel Dean's arms around him, and when sleep took him, it was with his hands crossed over his chest, cradling the empty space where Dean's hands belonged.

  


***

  


On Wednesday, Castiel couldn’t help himself from checking Dean’s office at lunch, but of course Dean was out. Castiel contented himself with liberating a piece of paper from the printer and writing “I miss you” in the center of it in his careful hand.  He didn’t sign it, but he _did_ draw three tiny fish at the bottom with a speech bubble that said “We miss you too!” He dithered for a few minutes over whether it was too childish, but in the end he folded it in three like a memo and slipped it under Dean’s door when he went to the bathroom after lunch, glancing both ways surreptitiously to make sure he was alone.

 

The first answering text came in after three, and Castiel winced at the implication that Dean had been out at lunch meetings for _hours_.

 

“ _THREE lunch meetings today Cas THREE i am SO SICK of smiling pretty_ ”

 

Several minutes went by before Dean sent any sort of reply indicating he’d seen the note, and Castiel started to worry he’d overreached before his phone buzzed again.

 

“ _miss u so bad it hurts_ ”

 

There was no emoji or other sentiment, but those six words gave Castiel all he needed to soar, contentedly finishing out his workday flying, smiling his way to his car, driving home with his window down a little, the wind ruffling his hair while he let the sun caress his skin.

 

He took his front steps one at a time today since his hamstrings were sore, mixed up a protein shake to guzzle while he hurried upstairs to change into gym clothes and collect a fresh towel and change of clothes for his gym bag. He’d been distracted lately. In the most wonderful way, of course, but… Castiel had a slim new folder of memories carefully tucked away since Friday, under a brand new classification. 

 

_Dean’s eyes flaring in surprise and heat when he found himself pinned under Castiel in the car._

 

_Dean’s teeth and tongue working their way down his obliques._

 

_Dean’s yelp of surprise and the way his body had become pliant, his eyes wide and eager, when Castiel had swept his feet out from under him and lowered him gently to the living room carpet._

 

 _Dean’s arm wrapped around him from behind, one finger gently tracing the lines of his stomach._  

 

Dean didn’t have to say a word. Castiel had spent his entire adult life being aroused by arms and backs and thighs and stomachs. He knew _exactly_ what he was looking at when he watched Dean’s eyes and hands and mouth admire the shape and strength of his body, and _whatever Dean wants_ , Castiel resolved firmly, _Dean gets_. 

 

Castiel drove the several blocks to his gym, worked out his core and upper body until he could barely move. He’d run a dozen or so miles the night before, so legs could wait. Castiel paid no attention to his surroundings, intent on carving his abs into marble, but when he stripped down to shower he noticed he was getting more glances than usual. Not just from the smattering of new guys, which he was used to and generally ignored, but some of regulars he saw all the time were looking at him speculatively as well. He nodded back, baffled, stepping under the stream of water to close his eyes and sigh as the scalding water hit his back. 

 

Today the glances felt different. Less covert, more eager maybe, and instead of preening a little to pay his share forward, his eyes snapped open to try to figure out what the hell was going on. A dozen men surreptitiously glanced away, except for one of the guys he’d seen around the longest. John? Joe? Jason? Something with a J, he couldn’t remember - they’d never spoken beyond a courteous greeting -  but maybe Jason’s eyes swept back up to his face, grinned at him, and indicated Castiel’s torso with raised eyebrows and a pointed glance; grinned even wider as Castiel’s glance followed where he’d been looking.

 

Castiel examined his stomach, which was in pain from the workout, yes, but more immediately relevant to his current situation, just past the line of black hair that curled down from his navel to his groin, along the curve of his obliques where they curved down into his pubic hair, there was a faint but unmistakable trail of decidedly bite-shaped purple bruises. _Oh_. Castiel smirked as he looked up to nod his thanks to maybe Jason for the explanation, received a congratulatory grin and nod, accepted them as his due, and returned to showering the sweat off his body. He enjoyed the glances he could feel returning to examine him, now that he knew what they were looking at. 

 

Castiel had never accepted a single invitation in this place, _nor would he_ , he thought smugly, grinning to himself, and yet he’d clearly accepted one recently. It must be maddening to wonder what Adonis could finally have turned his head, and Castiel gave in to the urge to preen just a little, arching his back and tilting his head back under the water to expose the column of his throat as he rinsed his hair. He actually heard someone sigh, and he couldn’t resist opening his eyes to raise an eyebrow at the young culprit, showering nearby, who flushed but stood up a little straighter under Castiel’s scrutiny; held his gaze hopefully, biting his lip. 

 

Castiel relented; he didn’t mean to be a tease, exactly, and that boy yearning to meet his approval had certainly been him twenty years ago. Rejection always hurt, but he could soften the blow. He smiled kindly as he shook his head gently no, stepped towards the boy as his hopeful face fell to lean down and murmur quietly in his ear. 

 

“You are an exceptionally beautiful boy and I would have been honored, but I am in an exclusive relationship.”

 

He smiled as the boy’s face flushed with pleasure, toweling himself off as he turned away to return to his locker and pull on dry clothes. He hadn’t even had to lie, quite, and it cost him nothing to ease the sting of being measured and found wanting. 

 

Castiel headed home musing about the nature of attraction, and wondering how he could help Dean with his workload before he collapsed under it. He decided a pie might be just the thing, and took a detour to Trader Joe’s to collect the ingredients, texting Sam when he got there to ask if he had any particular dinner requests for their usual Friday dinner. The response came in only moments later.

 

“ _deans going 2 b way 2 tired 2 cook cas. :-(_ “

 

To which he responded immediately.

 

“ _Oh, I’m sorry I wasn’t clear, Sam. I’ll cook, all you have to do is pick him up and bring him over. I assume you’ve had the car on these late nights?_ ”

 

“ _nope. dean has 2 get 2 meetings so ive been catching rides w friends. but ok in that case how about taco salad? pretty easy right? ;-)_ ”

 

“ _Yes, I think so. I appreciate your faith. I hope to see you on Friday then. :-)_ ” 

 

“ _heheheh ;-) i hope so 2 thanks cas._ ”

 

Castiel grinned fondly as he slipped his phone back into his coat pocket, strolled back to produce for lettuce and tomatoes to carefully place next to the apples in his cart. He collected ground beef and taco seasoning and cheese and sour cream and a couple kinds of good beer. Loathe to limit his guests’ options, he added both soft flour wraps and the crispy kind of corn chips so the guys could have their preference.

 

Castiel loaded his items onto the checkout conveyor belt humming to himself, and was startled to be winked at by the grinning cashier as he glanced at the selection of items.

 

“Making dinner for those gorgeous boys, huh?”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“This is a ton of food, so I’m assuming your pretty boy’s giant brother is invited too.”  

 

The cashier’s name tag read “Brandon,” and Castiel remembered now that he had been the flirtatious bag boy from their Thanksgiving shopping. He stared, nonplussed, while Brandon examined his items with a practiced eye, remarked, “You forgot salsa. And guacamole makings if you’re into that, and onions, although I approve forgetting the onions if your boyfriend is staying over.” Brandon shuddered at the thought of onion breath while Castiel got over his surprise to examine the ingredients with dismay.

 

“Damn, you’re right. Thank you, Brandon, may I - “

 

“- I _knew_ it!” Brandon interrupted smugly. “He denied it, but I’ve got eyes and the _way he looked at you_ \- “

 

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “ _You are correct that I forgot salsa and guacamole_ , Brandon. May I run and get those, or should I check out with these items and come back?”

 

Brandon looked crestfallen. “Aww. Yeah sure, go ahead, no one’s behind you, I’ll wait.”

 

Castiel took off at an actual run, returned in just under two minutes with more ingredients and a six-pack of root beer for Sam that he’d been unable to pass up as he jogged past. He set the avocados and garlic and salsa on the empty conveyor belt, and Brandon rang those up too.

 

“No onion?”

 

Castiel grinned. “No onion. There’s a possibility my boyfriend might stay over after dinner and I have it on good authority onion breath can be off-putting.”

 

Brandon’s smile was bright as the sun as he bagged up Castiel’s purchases - apparently pulling double duty tonight - and Castiel grinned back as he accepted the bags.

 

“I trust I can count on your discretion, Brandon?” Castiel asked, just to cover his bases.

 

“ _Of course_ ,” Brandon breathed. “ _Of course_ . And anytime you two want a third wheel, day or night, all you have to do is say the word. I will _quit this job_ if you call me while I’m here - “

 

Castiel’s laugh was bright and pure, and Brandon smiled in pleased delight to have pulled it from him.

 

“That won’t be happening Brandon,” Castiel assured him, still chuckling as he shook his head, “but your offer is appreciated all the same.”

 

Brandon grinned, and scribbled a number on Castiel’s receipt anyway before handing it over, beaming. 

 

“In case you _ever_ change your mind,” he declared, and Castiel shook his head again as he pocketed his receipt and turned away to trundle his cart out the door. The kid had chutzpah, he had to give him that. He wondered, as he loaded his groceries into his trunk, if he was carrying himself differently, because two sexual advances in the space of two hours - not to mention the additional looks he had ignored at the gym - seemed like more than average for a Wednesday night. 

 

Castiel pushed his cart to the cart return, loaded himself into his driver’s seat, and drove himself carefully home, following the speed limit, signaling every turn, and wondering how late Dean would be working on Friday - and more importantly, whether there was any chance of him staying over. He’d work through his embarrassment with Sam being there - he flushed hotly just thinking about it - _whatever it took_ to have Dean’s arms around him again.

 

Dean didn’t call until almost eleven. He sounded hoarse, and exhausted, but he sighed in pleasure to hear Castiel say, “Hello, Dean.”

 

“I got as much paperwork done tonight as I could Cas, so that I can get to the bar before I die of old age tomorrow. Sam told me you want to make us dinner on Friday and I’m hoping to get there before nine. I don’t think I can get us there any earlier, I’m so sorry. I have a fucking _cocktail hour_ meeting Friday at some new restaurant that just opened up. Sam’s gonna have to wait in the car during the meeting, but at least this meeting’s out your way instead of the opposite direction. Is that too late to hold you up for dinner?” 

 

Dean sounded so forlorn Castiel shook his head vigorously no, even though Dean couldn’t see him.

 

“It’s not too late, Dean. Whenever you get here, dinner will be waiting.” Castiel smiled to hear Dean smile, and a silence stretched between them as they listened to each other breathe.

 

“ _This is hard_ ,” Dean finally whispered.

 

“Agreed. Being apart from you is excruciating. I’m hoping when your workload eases we can add a midweek - “

 

“YES! Anything!” Dean breathed, and Castiel laughed for sheer joy.

 

“Consider it done. Now get some sleep so you can win your games tomorrow night, which, just so we’re clear, I fully intend to ogle you during.” Castiel grinned to hear Dean choke a little and then snicker, and he stifled a strong urge to whisper “ _I love you_.” He didn’t want to pressure Dean to feel like he had to say it back. 

 

Instead, he whispered, “ _I can’t wait to see you_ ,” and he knew he’d chosen well when he heard Dean smile, his voice cracking as he whispered back.

 

“ _I miss you too. See you tomorrow_.”

 

“ _Good night Dean._ ”

 

“ _Good night, Cas_.”

 

 

 


	70. First Pool Night After

Castiel watched Dean bend over the pool table, contentedly raking his eyes over Dean’s entire body, without trying not to objectify him even a little bit. He kept his face impassive of course, but he knew Dean could feel him. He could see the tiny shudder and the flush working itself across his cheeks and the tips of his ears; he knew what that meant now, and he suppressed his answering surge of desire, primal and fierce, shutting his eyes to breathe slowly and push it down to a simmer. He couldn’t get it any lower than that, even after several rounds of subtly doing breathing exercises, so he gave up and enjoyed the feeling instead, watching Dean line up shots and admiring his effortless grace, the way his body and by extension the pool cue and balls did exactly what he asked of them, the heavy spheres dropping into their pockets with satisfying clicks one after another, while Castiel daydreamed about what it would be like to be the one bending Dean over the pool table. 

 

He’d dig his teeth into the column of Dean's neck maybe, whisper into Dean’s ear until he moaned, open him up slow and easy so he could finally, _finally_ push his aching cock into him - slow and easy until Dean was begging for more of course - and then not even a little bit slow _or_ easy. Castiel shuddered involuntarily with how badly he wanted to be with Dean in that way and sucked in a slow, deep breath, wondering how long it would be until Dean asked for it.

 

Dean glanced at him then, his face an anguished plea for mercy, and Castiel startled guiltily and flashed him a wordless apology, nodded and looked away. He hadn’t realized Dean could feel not only his attention but also his _intent_ , but if the flush currently on Dean’s cheeks was any indication, he _absolutely could_ . Castiel filed that away as _incredibly interesting_ and shut his eyes to compose himself, his recent train of thought fanning his earlier simmer to more of a dull roar. Castiel joined the conversation at his table, aware that Anna was watching him but ignoring her saucy grin; one problem at a time. They were having a lively argument about Counter-Strike and for once Castiel could add to the discussion, making several valid points and offering a couple tips and getting some surprised and impressed looks from his friends.

 

Castiel turned back to observe Dean's game in plenty of time to watch him win it, helpless to keep his pride in Dean in check, his approval laced with tendrils of desire, dark and powerful. Dean met his eyes to smile at him, and his eyes widened and darkened at Castiel's expression as he shook his head almost imperceptibly in warning. Castiel slammed his face impassive again, _Jesus_ , he was going to have to be more careful. This was untenable, his thirst for Dean had only increased since he'd set foot in the bar. He needed air, distance.

 

Castiel stood up, murmured “I'll be right back, please excuse me,” to Anna, and turned away as she smiled knowingly into her drink. He strode rapidly to the door, stumbled outside to make it around the side of the building to lean on Baby, one hand on her flank, parked beside his Old Lady Lincoln one slot closer to the door. The night was cool and that helped as he gulped air and tried desperately to get a handle on himself. He shut his eyes and tried to breathe slowly, only to hear footsteps coming his way, to open his eyes to see Dean behind him, reflected in Baby's window. 

 

Castiel turned, an apology on his lips but Dean's tongue was already in his mouth, his body crushing Castiel savagely against Baby, his erection pressing into Castiel's hip. Castiel groaned in desperation, reaching up to lace fingers through Dean's hair, sucking desperately on his tongue, running his hands down Dean's sides to cup his ass and pull him closer, _knowing_ this was dangerous and stupid and they should stop immediately but grinding anyway. 

 

Dean broke first, panting and pulling away from Castiel to lean against Baby beside him, the inches between them a painful distance, heat radiating between their bodies where their thighs were almost touching. Dean pressed his hands on his own thighs, hard, leaning forward, his ass parked against Baby’s hood, and groaned in frustration.

 

“I’m sorry - ” Castiel began, his voice a strained growl.

 

“ _Don't_ ,” Dean cut him off, his voice clipped. Castiel turned to look at him then, concern rippling across his face, but Dean held up a hand to clarify quietly, still staring straight ahead.

 

“I mean, don’t you _dare_ apologize for wanting me. _Not ever_ .” Castiel’s eyes widened in surprise, and Dean sucked in a deep breath, held it for a couple seconds, blew it out, and turned to face Castiel, smiling ruefully. “I knew I shouldn’t bend over that pool table, Cas, I _knew_ it, even though I tried to take the edge off in the bathroom before I came here.”  Castiel’s eyebrows rose in surprise, _damn, he should have thought of that_ - 

 

“ - But it didn’t make a bit of difference Cas, the moment you walked in, the _second_ you looked my way I needed you so bad it hurt.” 

 

Dean sighed and amended his statement. “Hurts.”

 

Castiel nodded. 

 

“Agreed. Since the moment I laid eyes on you tonight I have been struggling ineffectually to suppress my overwhelming desire to fuck you over that pool table.”

 

“ _Jesus, Cas!_ ”  Dean’s strangled exclamation came as he looked around the parking lot furtively, but they were still alone. He sighed in relief and murmured shyly “Not gonna lie Cas, can’t say I wasn’t thinking about the exact same thing since the second I felt you thinking it.”

 

“So you _did_ feel it. Fascinating.”

 

“Yup.” Dean grinned. “It’s not like you were subtle.”

 

“I didn’t realize you could feel intent.”

 

“Me neither. But I sure as shit felt _that_.”

 

“Well,” Castiel grinned, “You felt my _intent._ But I’d surely love to make you feel my -”

 

“CAS!” Dean was grinning but there was a real warning in his voice, as a couple revelers wandered past towards their cars chatting and laughing. Castiel looked appropriately chastened and sighed heavily. 

 

“I am sorry Dean,” he murmured. “I will be more careful.”

 

“Thank you.” Dean shot Cas a look of pure agony, and he dropped his voice and begged. “Now please, for the love of god can we go somewhere before Sam needs a ride, _I need you_. Anything you want, Cas, I just… I need you to touch me.” 

 

Castiel shut his eyes, fighting a powerful urge to shove Dean over Baby and fuck him _right now_ until the police came for them. _Jesus Christ_ _DO NOT._ He gulped air and ran his fingers through his hair.

 

“We can’t leave together, Dean.”

 

“Actually, you can.”

 

Both men jumped as Anna approached, Castiel’s tan coat over her shoulder and his suit jacket over her arm. She shoved both peremptorily into Castiel’s arms, shaking her head up at the two of them. “You idiots cannot come here this hungry for each other, people will notice. I ran interference to the best of my ability but _even Garth_ asked me if you were feeling okay, Cas, and he is the _most oblivious person I know._ ”

 

Castiel winced and shook his head. “I know, I don’t know what I was thinking, thank you Anna - “

 

“Wait, how can we leave together?” Dean asked, obviously listening only to the most important part.

 

Anna grinned and punched Dean lightly in the arm. “I invented you a work emergency. Castiel, I just remembered I forgot to tell you to train Dean on one of the new features that he needs to be able to talk about in one of his meetings tomorrow. Go on, get the hell out of here.” Her grin turned wicked. “Teach Dean something.”

 

Dean snorted and Castiel laughed out loud, swept Anna into a hug. She hugged back super hard, meanwhile protesting, “Gross! Don’t get your desperate sexual tension all over me!”

 

Castiel laughed as she leaned up on tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “ _I am SO HAPPY FOR YOU. Now go do it like BUNNIES._ ” He kissed the top of her head and she shoved him away, danced her way back around the corner while they watched her go, turned to look at each other.

 

“Where can we go?” Dean whispered.

 

“I don’t know,” Castiel moaned, his voice laced with desperation. “Work seems like a patently terrible idea… Oh, how about the work _gym_? Maybe the locker room, no one’s ever there since they auctioned off the equipment, even when I was using it after you first started working…”

 

Dean nodded. “Go. I’ll meet you there.” He reached out to squeeze Castiel’s hand, electricity crackling between them everywhere their fingers touched. “Don’t start without me.”

 

Castiel snorted, his eyes dark, and nodded. His eyes dropped to Dean’s mouth and Dean licked his lips and shook his head reluctantly, his breath hitching. “In a minute,” he whispered, his voice husky.

 

***

 

Castiel waited in the dim fluorescent light of the tiny locker room - one of the bulbs kept blinking and buzzing - sitting on one of the two wooden benches between the rows of metal lockers with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. It smelled, too, like rubber floor matting and old sweat. This was a terrible idea, they should go somewhere else, somewhere nice, somewhere that _wasn’t the building they both worked -_ his train of thought derailed as the door opened, clanged shut, and Dean strode purposefully around the corner of the row of lockers, walking towards Castiel as Castiel reflexively sat up straighter, sinking to his knees on the springy gym flooring between Castiel’s knees. Dean pressed a condom and sample packet of lubricant into Castiel’s hand and bowed his head to Castiel, as if to receive a sacrament. 

 

Castiel touched his forehead to Dean’s, uncertain what was happening here or how to proceed, and a long moment passed in silence, only their ragged breath and the electricity crackling in the air between them, before Castiel murmured, 

 

“What would you like, Dean?”

 

“I need you to decide, _Sir_.” Dean answered huskily, his voice cracking as he uttered the words.

 

Castiel’s sharp intake of breath felt incredibly loud in the enclosed space. Time slowed to a grinding halt as his mind swirled and churned, forgotten images and repressed memories tumbling in a cascade that made his chest tight and his heart pound.

 

_He was kneeling like Dean was now, his head bowed, his body slight and naked and trembling. Faces flashed in his memory, men he had tried to please, most of them glad enough to hear him say what they wanted, content to take their pleasure and go, but the cascade of faces stopped on one in particular, a kind face, a man he had liked very much and had desperately wanted to please, a face creased in a hint of age lines and gentle disappointment, a familiar hand caressing his cheek. Castiel’s eyes burned as he remembered the sting of tears in his eyes to have failed again, and the regret in the man’s voice as he finally spoke._

 

_“You don’t want this, boy.”_

 

_“Yes, I *do*, Sir.”_

 

_“Alright, you do, but you don’t want it from me.”_

 

_Castiel’s eyes welled with tears remembering his disappointment as he had cried, “Yes I do!” and the man had swept him into an embrace, cradled him against his chest as he wept, whispered gently to him._

 

_“You don’t, I’m sorry, you don’t. I want you very badly Castiel, but I am not the one for you. You’ll find him, I promise. You’ll understand when you feel what I am feeling, when you kneel where he points or he kneels for you, you will feel it and you will know, but it’s not me, and I have to let you go, do you understand? We have tried, Castiel, you have been *so good for me*, you have given me everything I have ever asked of you so perfectly except the one thing you cannot control. I love you, boy, but you do not love me, and it shatters my heart a little more every time I touch you. I am so sorry.”_

 

_The man rocked him and kissed his face and caressed his hair as he sobbed and finally relented to his pleading, made love to him one last time so gently, so tenderly, tears in his eyes as he spilled his pleasure into Castiel’s body, did not even pretend to try to give him pleasure in return, praised him and petted him and rocked him in his arms until Castiel cried himself to sleep in the bedroom they had shared for months._

 

_In the morning he told Castiel he could stay in the guest room as long as he needed to, come and go anytime he pleased, but they would no longer share a bed, and that the play room was now off limits. “You may not entertain guests Castiel, I’m sorry, not in my home, I cannot bear the thought, but you are always welcome anytime you need a place to stay,” he had said, then he had kissed the top of Castiel’s head and left for work. Castiel had packed his things, forlorn, and then unpacked them, weeping, into the guest room. He had nowhere else to go._

 

Castiel blinked rapidly and shook his head, shaking the memory of the man whose given name he had never known back into the past. He gazed down at Dean kneeling before him, his gorgeous face raised in supplication, his desire making his hands tremble and his breath rasp raggedly past his lips, his chest shaking with each nervous inhalation. Dean was excruciatingly beautiful, the vulnerability of his submission the most exquisitely precious gift Castiel had ever been offered, and Castiel’s eyes stung and his chest hurt so much he couldn’t breathe to realize _how very much_ he loved this man kneeling on the floor in front of him, begging him for his touch, just as his lover had promised all those years ago.

 

The crackling tension already coursing through Castiel’s body was _nothing_ compared to the inferno of desire he could feel welling up from wherever it lived inside him, so powerful he fought it back, struggling to keep it from stealing his reason. He laced a hand through Dean’s hair, gripping it between his fingers tightly enough to pull Dean’s head back so he could lean forward to bite his neck down low where a collar would hide, hard enough for Dean to cry out before he switched to licking and sucking, his other hand working Dean’s belt undone as his mouth found Dean’s and he growled and licked and sucked his way inside. Dean whimpered, melting under the onslaught, his breath coming hard and fast. 

 

Castiel forgot about Dean’s belt momentarily as they kissed, both his hands coming up to cradle Dean’s face as he pressed his mouth to Dean’s and poured a lifetime’s worth of desperate longing into every touch of their lips, tears springing to Dean’s eyes as he received Castiel’s tenderness.

 

Tenderness soon gave way to desperate heat again and Castiel reached down to finish undoing Dean’s belt, reached into his boxer briefs to grip Dean’s searing cock in his hand, squeeze until Dean groaned, relax his grip to stroke him dry. 

 

“I am not prepared for this,” Castiel groaned into Dean’s mouth, “and I will not hurt you, nor will I take you somewhere like this your first time, regardless of how prettily you entice me. I will fuck your mouth like I mean it, and then I will give you the pleasure you crave as much as you fear it. Do you accept these terms?”

 

Dean’s eyes and nostrils flared wide in terror but he nodded, and Castiel shook his head, growling. 

 

“No, Dean. You promised me you would never say yes when you mean no.”

 

“I trust you,” Dean breathed. “I am saying yes because I trust you, and I want you, and anything you are willing to give me in this fluorescent hell in the next fifty five minutes, I am greenlighting, okay? _Please_ Cas. Let me see the Castiel I felt when I bent over that pool table, _I need that Castiel right now._ ” 

 

Dean shuddered, his eyelids fluttering as Castiel slowed the hand still stroking Dean’s cock and squeezed instead, hard.

 

“He’s dangerous, Dean,” Castiel whispered.

 

“I know. _I need him_.” Dean’s voice fell to a whisper as he shut his eyes and just _begged,_ desperation written in the crease of his brow and the curve of his lips. “Please Castiel, I need him. _Please, let *him* fuck me_. _Something. Anything._ _Please, Sir._ ” 

 

Castiel gazed down at Dean’s beautiful face, eyes tightly shut, tears glittering under his lashes, each breath rasping from his chest like a sob, and Castiel heard himself answer, in a voice he barely recognized, 

 

“Anything at all you want from me, Dean. There is nothing I will not give you.”

 

Time slowed to a single, perfect moment, as Dean’s eyes fluttered open and Castiel’s eyes slowly closed. A single blink, one deep inhalation, and Castiel dropped his careful guard - swept aside the barricade he had built stone by stone to hold back the dark urges he feared - and _opened his floodgates_ with a single force of will. 

 

Dean watched, riveted, as the Castiel he knew shut his eyes and a new Castiel opened them - _let it flow_ \- the desire he'd been holding back bursting free in a violent torrent, a rushing crescendo of carnal thirst and a burning need to take the control Dean was offering him, to make Dean beg some more, to see his eyes grow dark and his body tremble with pleasure or pain or both and to make him come over and over and over until he wept for mercy.  When Castiel groaned, his voice was a low snarl, and he did not recognize the sound of it as it fell from his own lips. 

 

Castiel surged to his feet, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his suit trousers as he did so, the smooth planes of his stomach and thighs hitting air as he pulled his straining cock free with one hand and gripped the back of Dean’s head with the other, twisting Dean’s hair in his fist and growling as he adjusted his stance to push his cock roughly into Dean’s mouth. Dean’s eyes flared wide as he straightened up eagerly, bracing himself where he knelt at Castiel's feet to receive him.

 

This was _not_ the Castiel whose hands had trembled trying to undo his own zipper on Saturday, and Dean’s entire body vibrated with fierce joy and desperate need as he parted his lips without hesitation to accept Castiel’s thick cock, pressing insistently into his mouth, his musk strong and heady, the hand Castiel had been using to guide his cock moving to grip the back of Dean’s head as soon as he shoved past Dean’s lips. Castiel’s eyes were dark, his face was fierce, and he stared into Dean’s eyes with such intensity as he pushed his cock into Dean’s mouth that Dean blushed and broke eye contact, casting his eyes down in deference, his hands uncertainly curling and uncurling on his own thighs.

 

“Look at me this instant,” Castiel growled, “and do not avert your eyes unless I tell you to.”

 

Dean obeyed instantly, moaning without meaning to, and Castiel nodded his approval, growling and pulling almost all the way out to rock the tip of his cock over the end of Dean’s tongue, watching Dean’s jaw work to contain him. It was _hot as fuck_ , and Castiel groaned, pleased. 

 

“Good. I know you don’t have a lot of practice at this so I’ll be quick, but I am going to fuck your throat. Take a deep breath now - ” he waited while Dean complied - “and then swallow when I touch your shoulder. Tap my thigh when you need a breath, understand?

 

Dean nodded enough for Castiel to feel it and grin wickedly, and then Castiel tilted Dean's chin forcibly up and tilted his head back, slid his cock deep into Dean’s mouth, and kept right on going, tapping Dean’s shoulder to swallow just when he felt like gagging, and then pushing past where Dean imagined a cock could go.  Castiel groaned low and menacing and slid out a little, still too far in for Dean to breathe, pushed back in with a tap for Dean to swallow, and repeated the same several more times before growling in frustration and pulling all the way out, gripping his wet cock in his fist to watch Dean gulp air, gasping.

 

“You didn’t tap for breath, Dean.”

 

“I forgot, _Sir_.” Dean shuddered as he said it, his eyes dark and his lips wet, no hint of disrespect or humor in his voice. His deference was real, and Castiel found it utterly intoxicating. 

 

Castiel shuddered and nodded, pleased, and warned, “Do not forget again, I need you to manage your own oxygen needs now while I fuck your gorgeous mouth, do you understand? I cannot relinquish control enough to climax if I’m worrying you will lose consciousness.”

 

Dean nodded eagerly, and Castiel pushed his cock between Dean’s lips again, tilting Dean’s head back at the correct angle and tapping his shoulder just before his gag reflex should hit to distract him with the swallow. Dean’s eyelids fluttered and he whimpered as Castiel fucked into him. He didn’t feel like gagging anymore, now it just felt intensely arousing, his cock aching and leaking, neglected in his unzipped trousers where Castiel had left it. He remembered to tap for air before he got lightheaded, didn’t need the shoulder tap at the gag point this time as he opened his throat for Castiel to fuck him deep, and when Castiel growled, “Ohhh, _VERY_ good Dean,” Dean’s eyes welled with pleasure, tears trickling unheeded as he gazed up at Castiel in worship; Castiel’s hooded eyes darkening with pleasure the most exquisitely gorgeous thing he had ever witnessed.

 

“I’m going to fuck your face now, Dean,” Castiel growled, his face as menacing as Dean had ever seen it, “and then I’m going to come down your throat. Do not forget to breathe.” 

 

Dean nodded as well as he could and dared to reach up to brace himself by gripping Castiel’s thighs, asking if it was okay with his eyes. Castiel nodded his permission gravely, gripping the sides of Dean’s head with both hands and tilting his face up and back just a little more before thrusting deep into Dean’s throat, groaning his approval as Dean leaned into his thrust and moaned with pleasure.

 

Castiel hadn’t been fucking his face _at all_ yet, Dean realized, he’d just been showing him what to do. Dean couldn’t keep his eyes on Castiel’s face with Castiel’s cock so far down his throat but he could watch his stomach flex and he could listen to him groan and that was maddeningly hot as Castiel fucked him hard and fast, pushing into his throat to thrust short rapid strokes shoved in deep, pulling out when Dean tapped for a breath, then shoving back in for a few more short strokes buried in Dean’s throat. Castiel rutted with intent, panting and grunting, his fingers twisting in Dean’s hair and his breath rasping as his pleasure mounted. He sounded like he was getting close, and Dean dared to run his hands up Castiel’s thighs, doing nothing at all to attempt to change his rhythm or run the show, just caressing him softly, feeling the muscles of his thighs flex as he worked and weeping with relief. It had been _so long_ since Castiel had touched him and it felt _so good_ to be with him again, Dean knew in that moment he would give Castiel absolutely anything he decided to take.

 

“Look at me,” Castiel growled, his breath heaving, his cock leaking as he rocked it over the flat of Dean’s tongue, watching with pleasure as Dean’s lips stretched to contain him. “I am going to come now, and you are going to watch.” Dean moaned, his entire body convulsing with need as he did his best to comply, tilting his head as far back as he could and remembering to take a deep breath before Castiel took his final plunge, the rhythm of Castiel’s final rapid strokes stuttering out as he groaned and shuddered, twitching deep in Dean’s throat as Dean swallowed over and over, refusing to tap out while Castiel was coming and gulping huge lungfuls of air when Castiel finally pulled out, tucked his cock back in his briefs, and pulled his trousers back up. 

 

This Castiel was _hot as fuck,_ dark and menacing, and he didn’t lose himself to his pleasure in the same way as Saturday’s Castiel, but Dean had no chance to compare and contrast because Castiel was shoving him roughly on his back, yanking his trousers down, shoving his suit jacket under Dean’s ass.

 

“I will not fuck you on the floor, Dean,” Castiel answered his unspoken inquiry. “I am a gentleman.” He grinned ferally as he continued talking, his hand stroking Dean’s cock far more gently than Dean would have expected from being shoved to the floor. “You have granted me permission without asking my intent. I will not continue this time without more explicit permission Dean, although I promise you those times will come, this time I need you to be certain. You may stop me at any time including right now without penalty or punishment. I will not be upset or disappointed and I will still give you an orgasm. I wish to give you pleasure. I wish to penetrate - “ Dean’s breath hissed as Castiel continued “ - your ‘butt’ Dean, just a tiny bit, yes, the dreaded ‘butt stuff’. One finger, no more, and not until your cock is in my throat. May I proceed?” Dean was smiling now, scared but laughing, and as Castiel finished speaking, he flushed and nodded.

 

“I require verbal confirmation.”

 

Dean flushed darker and took a deep breath. He was going to have to admit he wanted it.

 

“Yes, please,” he whispered, and as Castiel’s eyebrow arched in challenge, he added without hesitation, “ _Sir.”_

 

“Better,” Castiel growled, his face stern, but satisfied. He released Dean’s cock to tug Dean’s trousers and boxers roughly down, leaned over him to take just the tip of Dean’s cock in his mouth and suckle while Dean gasped in surprised pleasure, his eyes rolling back in his head. Dean tasted like the hand soap in the bathrooms smelled and Castiel grinned appreciatively that Dean had cleaned up for him after his solo activities, surged up Dean’s body to thrust his tongue into Dean’s mouth, taste himself on Dean’s lips and tongue. He plundered Dean’s mouth until Dean was whimpering, arching his back and trying to fuck harder into Castiel’s slow caresses, and then he unbuttoned Dean’s shirt slowly with one hand, peeled it open so he could lick his way down Dean’s chest, nibble on his nipples without breathing on them, bite the flesh of his stomach as he worked his way down Dean’s body, slipping the condom on his finger and ripping open the packet of lube without Dean noticing. 

 

Castiel licked a long stripe up the underside of Dean’s cock, making him buck and whimper for more while he stroked Dean’s perineum gently, cupping his balls in the palm of his hand, stroking his lubed finger a little further back with each caress. Dean’s whole body tensed, but Castiel was patient, slowly stroking back and forth without penetrating until Dean relaxed into it, his whimpering intensifying into little groans as Castiel lapped at his cock, popping the head into his mouth every few seconds to tease and then going back to infuriating long flat tongue strokes that stoked Dean’s tension but did nothing to work towards his release. Castiel started pressing against Dean’s entrance just a little as he caressed back and forth with his finger, and when Dean started rocking up a little into Castiel’s downstroke, started to buck his hips and bear down onto the escaping finger, Castiel splayed his free arm across Dean’s stomach and swallowed Dean’s cock into his throat in one quick motion, holding him completely still by force.

 

Dean bucked and moaned and tried desperately to grind up for friction, but he was held fast, and Castiel waited until the little twitches in Dean’s cock had stilled and he stopped fighting before breaching him just a tiny bit with his index finger, swallowing at the same time to give Dean plenty of sensation to process. Dean tensed and moaned, and Castiel pulled his finger back, slid his mouth slooowly off Dean’s cock, took a breath, and swallowed him back down while gently pushing his finger back in, a little further this time. 

 

Castiel froze while Dean’s body tensed. He waited a few seconds, slid his throat up and down an inch or so, massaging Dean’s cock until Dean sighed and relaxed, then Castiel came up for air, suckling the tip of Dean’s cock gently and staring at his face while he did it, his finger motionless but halfway inside the man beneath him, who gazed up at his face in such worship Castiel felt his eyes burn and his spent cock stir to see it. 

 

Castiel growled low in his throat, Dean’s eyes widening to hear it, and then he moved the arm holding Dean’s hips motionless up, across his chest, to press his hand firmly over Dean’s mouth. Dean’s eyes flared in anticipation as Castiel gave him an “are-you-ready?” look. Dean nodded, and then Castiel took a breath and _swallowed_ him, sliding his mouth down over Dean’s cock in one smooth motion until Dean’s entire cock was buried in Castiel’s throat, much further than Castiel had fucked Dean only minutes before, Castiel’s nose buried in the dark hair curling over his pubic bone. Castiel pushed his finger into Dean’s body slowly, inexorably, curving back until he found the bundle of nerves he was looking for, and then he pressed against it in slow pulses while he fucked Dean’s cock with his throat.

 

Dean bore down on Castiel’s invading finger, nerves he’d never even known could feel so good twitching and pulsing around Castiel’s finger and deep in his gut, the tension of his imminent orgasm spiraling higher than he’d ever felt it climb before. Dean’s eyes fluttered closed and his hips arched up, pressing harder and harder into Castiel’s face, his entire body convulsing as Castiel’s burning heat and rhythmic friction pulled him over that edge and his orgasm _tore_ out of him, releasing his entire crescendo of delicious tension in wave after wave of exquisite pleasure as he howled into Castiel’s hand, covering his mouth and his nose, too, to muffle his sounds while Castiel swallowed and swallowed, rocking his throat back and forth over Dean’s pulsing cock, gently fucking him with one curved finger. 

 

They came up for air at the same time. Castiel released Dean’s mouth and nose as he slid his mouth up off Dean’s cock, both of them sucking in huge lungfuls of air as Castiel gently slipped his finger out of Dean, deftly flipping the condom inside out and setting it beside the lube packet on the floor before pulling up Dean’s boxer-briefs so nothing would get on his trousers, crawling up Dean’s body to cradle him and to kiss his face and his mouth, their tongues crashing together in fierce need, Dean’s eyelids fluttering and tears running freely down his face as they kissed and kissed and kissed.

 

Eventually, Dean groaned, and whispered, “What time is it?”

 

Castiel shook his head. “Late. I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t you dare.”

 

Castiel grinned, kissing Dean’s forehead, and stroking his hair. 

 

“Late. I’m not sorry.”

 

“Better.”  Dean grinned, and Castiel snorted at the role reversal.

 

“Was that okay, Dean?” Castiel asked gently, nervous for the first time since they started.

 

“More than okay, Cas,” Dean assured him. “That was _fucking fantastic_.”

 

He looked up at Castiel apologetically, struggling to sit up from where Castiel had him cradled in his arms, and Castiel helped, setting him upright enough to sit and sliding out from under him.

 

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to go pick up Sam.”

 

“I know.”

 

Dean sighed. “It hurts to leave you.”

 

Castiel shook his head. “I didn’t think this through. You shouldn’t drive right now, and you certainly shouldn't be alone. Let me take you to pick up Sam, I’ll bring you back here so he can drive you home, okay?” He smiled fondly at Dean, his forehead creasing in concern. “Please, I insist. Or I’ll worry.”

 

Dean nodded dreamily, his body feeling strangely heavy for some reason. “Okay.”

 

They got up, stopping by the men’s room to throw away their waste and wash up and smooth their hair. Castiel’s shirt was wrinkled and his suit jacket was unwearable, but Dean’s hair and clothes looked great, only his dreamy stare and complete absence of cognitive processes a giveaway for what they’d just been up to. He stood waiting for Castiel to finish rinsing his face and mouth and smoothing his hair and then just kept standing, staring blankly as Castiel headed for the door, turned to call him. 

 

“Dean. Follow me.”

 

Dean turned dreamily to do as he was told, followed Castiel obediently downstairs, got into his car, put on his seatbelt only after being instructed to. Castiel drove them towards Stanford, holding Dean’s hand as Dean leaned against him, only letting go to reach up to caress his hair now and then. He demanded directions as they got closer and Dean gave them, his voice and his eyes far away.

 

When they pulled up in front of the library Sam was sitting on a bench, tapping away on his laptop and looking vaguely annoyed. It was a little past ten and he looked worried as hell to see the Pimpmobile until he saw Dean and Castiel inside, then he just looked annoyed, his face transitioning to confusion as Castiel got out of the car, came around to the passenger side, opened the door to pull an unresisting Dean to his feet and get him folded into the back seat.

 

“What’s wrong with Dean?”

 

“He’s fine. Get in,” Castiel said, “and shut the door. We’ll talk inside. I need you to drive, is that okay?”

 

Sam nodded, his face twisted with worry, and he tossed his bag into the passenger seat and got in, shut the door and adjusted the seat for his legs while Castiel climbed into the back with Dean and did up his seatbelt, cradled him in his arms. Dean nestled into Castiel’s chest with a happy sigh, closing his eyes contentedly, and Sam turned around almost completely in the front seat to watch with dismay.

 

“What did you do to him?”

 

Castiel met Sam’s accusation with full eye contact, his face mild as he stroked Dean’s hair.

 

“Do you want the specifics, Sam?”

 

“Gross! I mean, why is he like that?” Sam sounded more worried than angry and Castiel winced slightly, then nodded and sighed. He spoke calmly to Sam while he gazed down at Dean adoringly, petting his face now, as well as his hair, while Dean purred and sighed.

 

“I gave Dean a great deal of pleasure - “ 

 

“ - Gross! - “ Sam was grinning now, and Castiel barely flinched before grinning back, meeting Sam’s eyes to explain.

 

“ - of a nature that required him to trust me completely and to step some distance out of his comfort zone.”

 

Sam made a face while Dean snorted into Castiel’s chest, following that with an uncharacteristic giggle that made Castiel smile and Sam’s eyebrows rise. 

 

“Dean is just floating very high in a state of euphoria right now,” Castiel explained, “mostly endorphins and the after-effects of adrenaline leaving his system, I expect.” Castiel looked down to pet Dean’s face softly and murmured fondly, “I need to hold him until he comes down.”  

 

Sam rolled his eyes and Castiel looked up at him apologetically. “He’s not safe to drive like this. I didn’t think it through and I apologize for making him late. It won’t happen again, Sam.”

 

“It WILL,” Dean mumbled, and Sam and Castiel both grinned at him as Castiel contradicted him firmly.

 

“No, it _won’t_. I’ll plan enough time to take care of you afterwards if we do anything like that again, Dean. We can’t go to pool night like that again, Anna warned us - “

 

“What did you DO?” Sam’s eyes flared in fear. “You assholes _are gonna ruin everything_ for us!”

 

“S’okay, Sammy,” Dean protested, while Castiel held up a hand to allay Sam’s fear.

 

“It’s okay, Sam, we were stupid but no one saw anything and it won’t happen again.”

 

“At the BAR?” Sam was practically apoplectic, and Castiel decided not to admit they went to their work gym.

 

“No,” Castiel denied flatly. “Although it might have started at the bar, we went somewhere private and… took care of it, and it won’t happen again.”

 

Sam glared at Castiel and Castiel had the grace to look ashamed. 

 

“I’m sorry, Sam, I thought I could keep myself under control but I thought of nothing but your brother all week and I was unable to compose myself in his presence. I had to step outside, and then Anna invented a lie to kick us out together so we could go somewhere and - "

 

“- He’s crazy about me,” Dean piped up, his eyes open now and gazing up at Castiel in such worship that Sam blushed and looked away while Castiel returned the look, staring down at Dean adoringly as Dean spoke. 

 

“I _knew_ I shouldn’t bend over that pool table, Sammy, but I did it anyway and Cas couldn’t handle this sweet ass, drove him _absolutely wild_.”

 

“That it did,” Castiel murmured, “and I suspect you wanted it to, or it wouldn’t have worked so well. Did you play me, Dean?”

 

“Maybe.” Dean grinned smugly, then laughed, in a lilting cascade of completely uncharacteristic, joyful giggles. “No. I really didn’t mean to, Cas, I just… I told you, the second I felt your eyes on me I wanted you so bad it hurt.”  

 

“GUYS I’M RIGHT HERE!” Sam was laughing but there was a note of real horror in his voice and they apologized while Sam did up his seat belt, fiddled with the controls for a minute to figure out where everything was, and pulled away from the curb with a roar of acceleration, putting the Pimpmobile through her paces.

 

Castiel leaned down then, to whisper into Dean’s ear for him alone. 

 

“I always want you, Dean, every minute of every day, I want you. Thank you for tonight, you were _so good for me_ , and _so incredibly hot_ , I will think of nothing else when I am alone for weeks. Possibly ever.”

 

Dean grinned and nestled into Castiel’s chest, whispering back, “Four days was too long without you, Cas. I can only shower so many times a day, and nothing helped. _Needed_ _you_.” 

 

“We’ll find a way, Dean.”

  
“ _Fuck Yeah we will,_ _Cas_.”

 

 


	71. Dinner and a Show

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are catching up to the parts of this story I have what we still call 'written down' on what we still call 'paper'. I never planned out ahead to release these first couple weeks (character weeks in story time) of egregious amounts of sex over such a spread out amount of real life time but here we are. :-D At this time we're good through August and the first week of September and then I may need to go biweekly. I'm toying with the notion of saving updates for when Supernatural is on hiatus. Publishing when it's live has had some difficult stretches for yours truly bc no one gives a shit about a fic when canon has just done something awful. ANYHOO, be forewarned, there is way more story but a lot of it is still in my head and I will need time to rattle it out of there. :-D

Castiel carefully scraped perfectly diced tomatoes into the waiting rectangular ceramic serving dish. He’d bought a half dozen of them for tonight; he liked the way they all lined up in a row, sides touching, to offer a perfect grid of taco salad fixings. Castiel glanced at the clock and sighed, fetched saran wrap, carefully wrapped and refrigerated the dishes; seasoned browned beef and cheese and tomatoes and lettuce and guacamole and definitely no onions in case his  _ boyfriend  _ wanted to sleep over tonight. He was ready hours earlier than Dean had said he and Sam would be arriving, and he didn’t want the food to spoil.

 

Castiel hadn’t been able to concentrate at work, not even a little bit. His mind kept replaying flashbacks from the night before, stealing his breath and stoking a fire in his body he had to fight tooth and nail to control. He’d been endlessly relieved when one o’clock rolled around, the half-day he’d scheduled midweek to accept delivery of his new couch terribly fortuitous given the current circumstances in his dress slacks.  Castiel waved goodbye to Anna with a smile at her jealous mock-scowl and made his escape to his Old Lady with relief, to roll her window down, let the wind ruffle his hair on the interstate, and enjoy the highlight reel instead of fighting it, now that he was alone.

 

_ Dean, kneeling for him.  _

 

Castiel gasped, the arousal already coursing through his body taking a back seat to his chest flooding with the same desperate, overwhelming wave of _ love  _ he’d felt for Dean last night. He didn’t know he could love anyone so much, his chest churning with a maelstrom of emotion, his body with heat, tumbling and swirling until he couldn’t tell one from the other. 

_ Dean, begging him to take control.  _

 

The phrases echoed in his head, seared indelibly in his memory. He knew he would never forget them as long as he lived.   

 

_ “Please Cas. Let me see the Castiel I felt when I bent over that pool table, I need that Castiel right now.” _

 

“ _ He’s dangerous, Dean _ .”

 

“ _I know. I need him._ _Please, let *him* fuck me_. _Something. Anything._ _Please, Sir._ ”

 

Castiel stared at the road, his stomach twisting around echoes of the terror he’d felt, fear of what would happen if he let go, his body burning with embers from the fire that had coursed through him as he had relented in the face of Dean’s desperation. Dean’s need had been more important to him than his fear. 

 

Castiel pushed past his arousal to grasp the thought as it went by, pull it back and examine it for fallacy, but it was  irrefutable . There was nothing he wouldn’t give Dean. Nothing at all. Even a week ago in the Impala, before he understood that Dean wanted more than his body.  Even when all he had understood was that Dean had asked him for sex but believed himself rejected, and had sought comfort elsewhere to soothe the pain Castiel had inflicted by rejecting him. That Dean valued their friendship enough to beg forgiveness for the offense of desiring his body when he believed Castiel did not return his interest. That Dean was angry and hurt that Castiel could confess to having feelings for him, yet have spurned his sexual advance. 

 

Examining the memory analytically, Castiel realized that he  _ hadn’t cared _ how much it was going to hurt when the night - or the weekend, or maybe the week, or if he was  _ very _ lucky, maybe even the month - was over and Dean's sexual interest in him waned.  He hadn’t wanted to think past giving himself to Dean. Past the relief of being able to confess his feelings to Dean. Past wrapping his arms around Dean. Anything Dean asked of him he was prepared to give,  _ no matter what it cost him _ , and admitting his weakness to himself was  _ terrifying _ .

 

Castiel ineffectually wiped at the tears flowing down his face with the back of his hand. He sucked in a deep breath through his nose, held it for a count of seven, blew it out slowly.  _ It’s not going to be like before, _ he promised himself, willing his fear adrenaline to please just  _ stop _ . 

 

_ Dean promised. Dean wants more than just sex. He wants everything. With me. _

 

Castiel had been studying Dean since they met, slowly learning to understand the way he spoke with his body, but he had discovered  _ so much more _ over the last weekend as Dean finally put words to his body language, fleshing out the rosetta stone of  _ Dean _ that Castiel had been building in his mind for almost a year.  Interactions that had previously mystified him tumbled through his mind now, clicking into focus through the lens of his new understanding; a wheel of incredibly good fortune and he was holding all the vowels.

 

Dean, the man he loved more than he’d known he was capable of loving anybody, who was _not good at words_.  Dean, whose mouth ran dry when he tried to say “ _I love you,_ ” but whose eyes had filled with tears when Castiel had handed the bag of Christmas cookies through the car window to Sam, Castiel was _certain_ of it. What had Sam said, “ _Cooking is how Dean shows he cares, and now Dean takes care of you, too, Cas._ ”

 

_ Christ _ , had he been rejecting Dean’s offer of love then, too? 

 

_ Dean, eyes shining bright under the dim bar lights as Castiel watched him line up a complicated winning shot, Castiel’s attention rapt, Dean’s cheeks flushing just a little as Castiel smiled his approval. _

 

_ Dean, stepping into his personal space in his kitchen, so close Castiel could guiltily savor the heat of his body through both of their clothes. _

_ Dean, eyes shining above him in the Impala, his hand splayed over his chest.  _

 

_ “Castiel Novak, I have been trying to give myself to you. _ ”

  
_ Dean, voice cracking underneath him in his bed, their bodies interlocked, his hand splayed over his chest. _

 

“ _ And you want me here too? _ ” 

 

Castiel had nodded yes, cried out yes, he wanted Dean with everything he had, but he had not fully understood what Dean was trying to tell him. Not yet.

 

_ Dean, straining to be kissed as he crested over Castiel’s hand, heedless of the morning breath he had just complained about, tears flowing freely down his beautiful face _ .

 

_ Dean, holding out his hand over the table at Harvelle’s until Castiel understood he was meant to grasp it, his eyes glistening with emotion and his face so incredibly gentle as he painstakingly spelled it out so Castiel could finally understand. _

 

“ _Castiel Novak._ _I. Choose._ _You._ _There aren’t going to be any others, do you understand, Cas? Only you.”_

 

Castiel’s lingering fear adrenaline washed away under a powerful wave of longing for Dean, desperate heat and a feeling like homesickness in equal measure, crashing over him and through him, his need almost physically painful in his chest and in his slacks. He just...  _ needed to see Dean _ , to hold him, to taste his mouth and breathe his breath and to  _ say the words out loud.  _  He needed to spend the heat burning his body alive, but he wasn’t going to be able to provide what he needed for himself, and that was such a jarring realization he groaned in frustration even as he pressed his hand against his erection to try to dull the ache.

 

“ _...nothing helped. Needed you. _ ” 

 

Castiel gasped as Dean’s words from last night sprang to his mind. His eyes widened, fresh tears sliding down his face as the final piece clicked into place and he understood what Dean had been telling him had nothing at all to do with the sexual gratification he had been able to provide. 

 

_ Dean feels this too. Dean feels this too. Dean feels this too.  _

 

_ Dean needs me as much as I need him. _

 

_ Dean. Loves. Me. *Back*. _

The  _ relief _ that flooded through Castiel’s entire body and coursed down his cheeks was more satisfying than any sexual release he could ever remember giving himself. He blew out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and turned into his driveway, pressing the remote to open his slip and moor his boat.

 

Castiel splashed cold water on his face at the kitchen sink and glanced at the clock. He had ten minutes before the couch delivery window of two to five was even set to begin. What were the chances they’d be right on time? 

  
  


***

  
  


Castiel came with a shout, Dean’s pelvis arching into his face hard enough to hurt while Dean screamed into his outstretched palm playing in slow-motion behind his eyelids. He understood the hollow ache in his chest now, soothed it fractionally by promising himself he would hold Dean in just a few hours, this was only a stopgap to keep himself from having an erection when the delivery guys showed up. 

 

Castiel cleaned up trying to ignore his illogical sense of urgency - it was a three hour window, he had plenty of time - but he had barely pulled on jeans when the doorbell rang and he pulled on a shirt with his heart racing, ran downstairs to open the door feeling vaguely caught.

 

The man at the door checked his clipboard.  

 

“You Mister Novak?”

 

“Yes I am.”

 

The man grinned. “You expecting a bright red couch Mister Novak? Shawn in sales was real insistent we do you first, he really wanted to be sure we got this out to you today.”

 

Castiel smiled pleasantly, trying as hard as he could to not be out of breath. 

 

“That’s very kind of him. Yes please, right through here.” He waved at his empty living room, and the man peered through the door, nodded.

 

“Okey Dokey, Mister. Can you move your tables on your own?”

 

“Yes, of course,” Castiel shook his head, grinning, and stepped away to do just that while the man returned to his truck to fetch his partner and Castiel’s new couch.

 

In a matter of minutes two burly men had maneuvered a bright red couch into Castiel’s living room, he’d signed the clipboard and tipped the men, and they disappeared out of his space while he returned to stare at his new couch. It was a lot brighter in his living room than the swatch had looked in the showroom, almost garish. He kind of loved it. He pictured bending Dean over the chaise lounge end and his breath caught. 

 

_ No. Save something for Dean. _

 

Castiel pulled his coffee table towards the couch and sighed in frustration. He lined it up visually with the arm of the couch on his side and it had only an inch to spare at the chaise lounge end. It didn’t fit; he was going to have to get a different one. Castiel scowled and pulled it past the arm on his side by a couple feet so Sam and Dean would have maneuvering room to get past it tonight. 

 

_ So be it. _

 

Castiel had elected to go for a run instead of masturbating again, come home to shower and carefully take extra hygiene precautions just in case and apply brand new cologne to his wrists and neck and peel apples and make a crust and prepare taco ingredients, dragging his feet during all of it but it was still barely seven, and Sam and Dean weren’t due until nine.

 

Time slowed to a crawl as Castiel willed it to pass, sitting at his kitchen table and glaring at the clock. He felt like a child again, waiting out some interminable pre-holiday eve, and after the longest fifteen minutes he could ever remember he laughed at himself in frustration, got out a rocks glass and poured himself a couple fingers of bourbon. 

 

Castiel took his apron off and went upstairs to carefully take down the slim volume of poetry patiently waiting for him on the shelf with his most treasured possessions; the last book he’d ever purchased - the very day he came home from Afghanistan - but had never found the strength to open, and then he took himself out to his garden to sit with his poets and listen to his fountain bubble and to allow himself to believe, to hope against hope and against all odds, that perhaps there might still be beauty in the world after all.

  
  


***

  
  


At nearly nine Castiel yawned and stretched and bid Amara and his poets goodnight. He raked the stones by the soft glow of the twinkling lights, flicked the lights off as he hung up his rake, and headed upstairs to reheat taco beef in a frying pan with a little water so it wouldn’t dry out. As the minutes crept past he poured himself another bourbon and sat down at the kitchen table to savor his new favorite verses, absently eating a banana so he wouldn’t be ravenous when the boys arrived.

 

At nearly ten the Impala growled up the street and Castiel leapt to his feet as she turned into his driveway, to unwrap and arrange his carefully prepared dishes into their pleasing grid, dishing up the beef and setting it on the kitchen table just as the door flew open and two Winchesters tumbled into his kitchen without preamble. 

 

Sam groaned with desperation to smell the dinner, closing the door gently behind Dean and falling over himself to grab one of the plates that Castiel had waiting on the table and start loading it down, but Dean just stood where he’d landed, weaving on his feet, staring at Castiel, the exhaustion on his face warring with uncertainty and desperate longing.

 

Castiel was in front of Dean in an instant, hands reaching out to steady, and Dean melted into his arms with a soft moan, his eyes tightly shut and his brow furrowed, his lips murmuring desperate apologies for how late they were. Castiel petted Dean’s hair and kissed the sorrow from his lips, promised it was okay he was just so glad they made it, he knew it was going to be a late one, he hadn’t worried and he wasn’t upset. 

 

Castiel maneuvered Dean to the table, sat him in a chair, made him a plate of food and set it in front of him, made himself a smaller plate and sat down just as Sam reached for seconds.

 

“Did you sleep last night, Dean?” Castiel asked gently, and Dean started from a stupor at hearing his name, looked down at his plate, and shoved a huge bite of food in his mouth, sighed happily, chewed contentedly.

 

Castiel looked to Sam, who shook his head in the negative.  

 

“He stared at the TV a couple hours, but then he was in the shower for god knows how long. I slept through most of it. You might want to save whatever you did to him for the weekends, Cas.”  

 

Sam was not teasing, he was serious, and Castiel nodded. 

 

“I will. I didn’t know how he would be affected.” Castiel’s gaze was steady, and he looked Sam in the eye. “I know better now. I’ll take better care of him, Sam, I promise.”

 

Sam nodded his approval. “Good. He’s not complaining, but - “   
  


“I’ll do better,” Castiel promised. “I love him too, Sam.”

 

Sam smiled softly at Castiel over Dean’s nodding head. “I know you do, Cas.”

 

Sam and Castiel both watched Dean slowly sag chin-first into his chest, then startle awake and blink at his plate to take another huge bite of ground beef and tomato and sour cream, swallow, and promptly nod off again.

 

“He’s crazy about you,” Sam whispered, grinning. 

 

Castiel looked sheepish but pleased as Sam continued. “I brought him an overnight bag and we can figure out if I’m picking him up or you’re dropping him off later, okay? I’m going to eat as much of this as I can physically fit in my body and then I’ll put the rest away and head home. Put Dean to bed, will you?”

 

Castiel stared at Sam, surprised. “But you just got here! Are you sure you don’t want to stay in the guest room, maybe drive home in the morning? At  _ least  _ eat some pie!”  Castiel waved his hand at his nearly perfect pie, sitting on the counter, his face chagrined now.

 

Sam laughed, shaking his head. “Naw, man, traffic is great right now and our place is ground zero for a Halo tournament starting at the ass crack of dawn tomorrow - José is SO excited, Cas, you should’ve seen him -  which I am going to  _ try _ to study through but will probably end up refereeing instead, and then I have a study date tomorrow night. I need the car.”  He grinned smugly at Castiel. “I’m sure you and Dean will find plenty to do without me hanging out here.”

 

Castiel managed not to blush this time, he just smirked at Sam and Sam snorted and smirked back. They both watched as Dean almost pitched forward into his plate, Castiel reaching out this time to steady him.

 

“Go,” Sam commanded, smiling. “Get him in bed. Maybe he’ll get a second wind for you. I’ll put anything I don’t eat away - I  _ will  _ eat some pie don’t you worry about  _ that - _ and I’ll bring Dean’s duffel in and lock up on my way out. Thanks for dinner, Cas.”

 

Castiel nodded, wolfing down the last of his dinner and setting his plate in the sink before gently pulling a somnambulistic Dean to his feet by the elbow and guiding him through the living room, up the stairs, and sitting him on the end of his bed to pull off his dress shoes and socks. Dean opened his eyes to beam sleepily up at Cas, currently working on his tie and getting halfway through undoing his shirt buttons by the time Dean woke up enough to help, shimmying out of his shirt and undershirt and undoing his own belt and dress slacks and standing up unsteadily to pull them off. Dean stripped out of his boxers, too, acres of freckles swimming in Castiel’s vision as Dean clambered up into Castiel’s clean white sheets and held out his arms plaintively.

 

Castiel wasn’t even a little bit tired. He undressed slowly, his eyes sparkling in the soft light of the amber bedroom lamps, lifting his tee shirt hem in a graceful reveal of the planes of his body and peeling it off slooowly, until Dean groaned in appreciation and frustration in equal measure. Castiel’s eyes crinkled as he watched Dean’s pupils flare in the dim light, watched his lips part and his breath catch as Castiel slooowly undid his belt, pulled it out of his belt loops one by one in slow motion, painstakingly rolled it up and set it on his dresser.  Dean whimpered as Castiel unbuttoned his jeans, unzipped his zipper in slow motion, the teeth separating one by one to reveal the swell of his arousal hidden behind soft cotton briefs, Dean’s exhausted body responding all the same with an answering erection under Castiel’s watchful gaze.

 

Dean’s eyes flared wide, reflecting soft amber light over pools of black as he watched Castiel slooowly caress his cock through his briefs, his eyes fixed on Dean’s face, flicking from his eyes to his mouth and back again as he pressed his palm against his erection to forestall the ache, watched Dean’s cock jump in response. Dean sighed in longing but he made no motion or request, just waited to see what Castiel would do, and Castiel smiled at him approvingly, arching one eyebrow as he peeled off his briefs just to watch Dean’s entire body shudder and hear his gasp, nodding in satisfaction at Dean’s reaction as he languidly stroked himself, watching Dean begin to pant.

 

“What would you like, Dean?” Castiel growled, noting the sound of the Impala roaring away with half an ear.

 

Dean’s attention on the motion of Castiel’s slowly stroking hand did not waver, but his face grew uncertain, fatigue creeping in around the edges. 

 

“I’ll do all the work,” Castiel promised gently. “Please, Dean, even if you just want to watch,  _ please _ , five minutes.” His hand didn’t slow, but his face grew a little shy, and a little desperate. “I didn’t… I waited... I - I need you.”

 

Dean’s face was already registering bashful pleasure as Castiel shook his head and frowned at himself, stilling his hand to grip his cock tightly and meet Dean’s eyes apologetically. 

 

“I’m sorry, Dean, I’m being terribly selfish. If you’re too tired, I’ll take care of myself in the guest room and wait until you’re rested.” He waited, his face carefully neutral, watching Dean’s face for a decision, but Dean was already holding his arms out again, his face pleading.

 

“ _No!_ Please don’t go, I want to watch you so bad Cas, _so bad_. Please, can you, will you, um, if you’re not still sore…” His voice trailed off to a whisper, staring up at Castiel’s face shyly. “ _Will you - can you - um, ride me again like the first time we…_ _FUCK I need to see you come._ ”

 

Castiel was already reaching for a condom and lube, already prowling up Dean’s body to lick the flat of his tongue up the underside of Dean’s cock as Dean gasped and Cas tore open the condom to roll it down the length of his cock, spreading thick lubricant over the condom rapidly, urgently, like Dean might change his mind. 

  
Dean stared up at Castiel, his mouth falling open in awe as Castiel knelt over him, arching his back to slowly stroke his cock with the same thick lubricant his hands were already covered in, wincing slightly as he pressed two fingers into his ass in one quick motion, his eyes never leaving Dean’s face as he worked himself open for a minute, a sheen of sweat already beading on his forehead before Dean whispered, “ _ Take your time Sweetheart, no rush. _ ”

 

Castiel nodded and slowed down just a little, watching Dean’s face as he fucked himself forward and aft in a glorious undulation of rippling muscle that flared Dean’s pupils wide and stole his breath. When Castiel pulled four fingers out of his hole and reached for the wet wipes, Dean held his breath in anticipation, and when Castiel eased himself onto Dean’s cock in one long, slooow, slick slide of exquisite heat and pressure, his eyes never leaving Dean’s face as he groaned his pleasure, Dean’s breath hissed out of him in a warning cry as he fought his body with everything he had not to come  _ right now _ , Castiel’s hooded eyes and long fingers, shiny with thick lubricant as they slid slowly over his straining cock the  _ new _ hottest thing Dean had ever seen in his life.

 

Castiel froze at the warning, watching Dean’s face carefully, completely motionless except for his hand, still slooowly sliding over his glistening cock. He waited until Dean’s cock stopped twitching, until Dean nodded he was ready, leaning up on his elbows, eyes shining in the soft light, lip pink and bruised between his bottom teeth.  _ Christ _   but he was beautiful.  Castiel’s eyes stung at the wonder of it all but he fought the emotion back, smiled gently down at Dean, and started to  _ move _ .

 

Dean stared up at Castiel with his mouth hanging open in disbelief. He was beyond exhaustion from his week of short sleep and especially last night, when he’d been unable to sleep more than a couple fitful hours, wired from what he’d just experienced and missing Castiel so much it hurt, so much he’d needed to sit in a hot shower and pretend it was Castiel’s arms around him until the water finally ran cold, crawling into bed to wait until work so he could smile and nod his way through meetings until Sam could drive him to see Cas again.  The sleep deprivation made everything fuzzy, made his eyes hard to hold open and everything feel like it was happening in slow motion. 

 

All of Dean’s senses clamored for attention at once and his exhausted brain just let everything wash over him in an overwhelming, unfiltered torrent of sensation. Cas smelled  _ fucking fantastic _ tonight, something exotic and smoldering, not too strong, but heady and intoxicating all the same. The soft light, Cas stripping for him, the sweat shining on the column of Castiel’s neck, the sound of Castiel’s slow, heavy breathing while he fucked himself on his fingers, all of it felt like a surreal, gorgeous dream. An enticement his subconscious cooked up after a bad day to keep him asleep, maybe - if he could have imagined anything as gorgeous as Castiel slow-fucking himself above him, every plane of his perfect body gleaming in soft light - right up until the moment Castiel’s exquisite heat and pressure sank down over his cock, his searing hot thighs against his sides grounding him, pulling him into the  _ right now, _ his near dream state focusing on the entrancing vision above him as Castiel  _ put on a show  _ for him, his strip-tease from before just an appetizer compared to the show he gave Dean now.

 

Castiel  _ worked it _ , watching Dean’s face as he slowly fucked himself on Dean’s cock in mesmerizing waves of expanding and contracting tendons and muscle, thick thighs and sculpted stomach rock hard too, gleaming with a sheen of sweat almost as reflective as the thick lubricant glistening on his hand and cock. He didn’t throw his head back or shut his eyes this time, he watched Dean watch him instead, his lips parting as his breath rasped quicker and quicker, his pupils dark and wild, his eyes glazing as his pleasure mounted. 

 

Dean whimpered as he watched Cas work, watched him start to hyperventilate, watched his eyelashes flutter and his hand slow down as he tried to make the show last just a little longer, his eyes flicking now from Dean’s eyes to his mouth in rapid succession.

 

Dean didn’t say a word, but his glance traveled from Castiel’s left hand, tightly closed now around a fistful of wet wipes, to his neglected nipples, and he locked eyes with Cas as he reached up with both hands, tightening every muscle in his abdomen to lift himself high enough to slooowly close an index finger and thumb over each nipple, cruelly crushing the hard nubs between the pads of his fingers and thumbs and rolling them slowly back and forth. 

 

Castiel’s eyes flared impossibly wide and he  _ screamed _ as he collapsed, all his weight landing in Dean’s lap, Dean’s thick cock pulsing helplessly inside him as Castiel’s rippling contractions tore Dean’s orgasm from him with a shout, while Castiel  _ howled _ , low and desperate, his eyes never once leaving Dean’s face as he spilled his pleasure in scalding hot splashes between his trembling fingers and onto Dean’s chest.

 

They stared at each other, panting, until Castiel winced, then Dean whispered his apologies as he released Cas’s nipples and reached out to steady Castiel’s trembling thighs in his hands instead, to help him climb down, to help clean them up with the rest of the box of wet wipes. They took turns in the bathroom with hot washcloths and soap in silence, the slight aftermath a little embarrassing for Dean, but Cas was as completely matter-of-fact and practical about it as he was about everything else, so Dean took his cues from Castiel’s attitude and stopped worrying about it as he swayed on his feet, brushing his teeth.

 

When he was done he found Castiel naked on his back in bed, his mouth freshly minty when Dean sighed and climbed on top of him and held Cas’s face in his hands to kiss his mouth desperately, passionately, eagerly, tenderly, pouring the words he could not say into every press of his lips and tongue until Castiel broke away, his eyes sparkling with tears.

 

“ _ It hurts, Dean, _ ” Castiel whispered.

 

“Did I hurt you? Oh Shit, Cas I’m so sorry - “

 

“- Not that.” Castiel smiled ruefully up at Dean, his face still cradled between Dean’s hands, and his lower lip trembled. “I - I need to  _ say it _ , and it hurts to hold myself back in case - in case I pressure you - in case - in case it’s too much for you. In case  _ I’m  _ too much for you.”

 

Dean stared down at Castiel, his exhausted face puzzled and terribly worried.

 

“I don’t want you to hold anything back, Cas.”

 

Castiel’s eyes shimmered as he stared up at Dean in silence, and Dean lifted a hand from the side of Castiel’s face to gently brush a tear from his cheek with his thumb.

 

“Is this...” Dean winced, “Is this about the L word, Cas?”

 

Castiel nodded, his eyes welling in earnest.

 

Dean’s eyes, already bleary from exhaustion, went soft with affection and sorrow.

 

“ _ Oh Sweetheart, _ just because  _ I _ suck at words doesn’t mean  _ you _ can’t say them as many times as you need to.  The way - uh, the way I, uh - “ Dean struggled to speak, his face pained as he stared into Castiel’s eyes, pools of amber light reflecting from the tears collecting there.  

 

“The way I _feel_ about you, Cas… “ 

 

No more words came, so Dean took a deep breath and tried coming at it sideways, his voice breaking as he spoke.  

 

“ _ You will never scare me away, Cas, I promise _ .  I want  _ all  _ of you, Cas  I’m so sorry if... if I can’t give you enough, but _ I swear _ I’ll give you everything I’ve got. ”

 

Castiel broke down as he wrapped powerful arms around Dean, flipped him over, crawled on top of him to kiss his mouth and his jaw and his cheeks and his eyelids and to sob, “ _ I love you I love you I love you, _ ” over and over while Dean kissed him and held him and gently slid warm hands up and down Castiel’s sides, caressed his back, stroked his hair and his face with soft fingers… and desperately, frantically, fought his biology with every ounce of his will to stay awake, losing his battle at last as Castiel’s sobs eased, as he purred and crept into Dean’s arms to nestle his back against Dean’s chest, to sigh contentedly as Dean’s arms wrapped around him, and to cradle Dean’s hands over his heart, where they belonged.

 

 

 

 


	72. A Sacred Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I've made a command decision re my fanfic publishing, and it feels so right & gives me so much relief I know it's the right thing for me. I will publish the rest of this work weekly through 10/4/19. I am crafting a gorgeous stopping point there which will make a satisfying place to end book one. "Book one," being well over a quarter of a million words, which is more like THREE books tbh; so let's all pat ourselves on the back for being this invested in something with such a grand SCOPE, huh? :-D
> 
> On 10/4 I will mark this work complete and I will create it an AO3 Universe in which it will become part one. Then, I'll take a vague-tweeting hiatus of several months to give myself time to write out far enough ahead on book two that I'm not panicking or shorting the work. My process needs a fair amount of WIP available to backtrack to add foreshadowing or adjust dialogue when new ideas fall into place, but once I've published a chapter my hands are tied, so my rising panic at not having the space to create has become an issue. I need some room to breathe. Since making this decision I can already feel a rekindling the joy that I have been missing in working on this, so we can all rest assured knowing it's the right choice. <3
> 
> I'm telling you now so you can prepare yourselves for a vague-tweeting hiatus. :-)  
> I'm on twitter under the same name, because I got over the embarrassment of writing porn and landed firmly on the LOOK HOW GREAT I AM AT THIS BE PROUD OF ME MOFOS in about the first 90 days of writing.  
> :-D <3
> 
> Onward! :-)
> 
>  
> 
> ***

 

Dean woke with a start as Castiel slipped into bed beside him, warm and naked and, now, half hard as he slotted his body behind Dean and wrapped his arms around him, one around his chest, one caressing a thigh, leaned his head over Dean’s shoulder to whisper into his ear.

 

“Good morning, Dean.”

 

Dean’s entire body rippled with gooseflesh and his back arched as the chills finished their journey, leaving him gasping with arousal. He cleared his throat to ask huskily, “What time is it?”

 

“Eleven.” Castiel’s teeth nibbled delicately at his earlobe and Dean gasped and turned his head for more, which Castiel delivered, sucking gently on Dean's earlobe and trailing one hand slowly up Dean’s thigh to tease, gently tickling the hair that trailed down from Dean’s groin without touching his cock.

 

Dean groaned in frustration, and he felt Castiel smile against his ear in response. Cas was definitely all the way hard now, his dick pressing insistently against the curve of Dean’s ass. 

 

“I waited for you, Dean, and I’m sorry to wake you, but I didn’t go for a run so I would be home when you woke up, and I fear I cannot wait any longer.” 

 

He groaned and thrust once against Dean’s ass, his breath already speeding up. 

 

“May I continue, or should I go deal with my curse on my own so you can get more rest?” 

 

Castiel sounded almost bitter, and Dean stopped trying to figure out how to arch his body to get Castiel’s hand to touch his dick and used his words.

 

“Cas, your sex drive isn’t a curse. It’s a _fucking gift_ , okay?” 

 

Dean smiled, even though Cas couldn’t see him, and ground his ass into Castiel’s cock, earning a hiss and a groan laced with desperation. 

 

“You can wake me up anytime, day or night, _fuck_ , you can start while I’m asleep, okay? I want everything you’ve got.” 

 

Castiel made a sound halfway between a groan and a sob this time, and leaned away from Dean for a second, half of Dean’s body suddenly bereft, to reach for the nightstand. Dean heard a bottle cap and snickered at the obscene squirting noise that followed. He tossed the covers off with his free arm and tried to turn his head to see what Cas was doing, but Cas was holding him immobile, one arm tight around his chest. Dean had a moment of panic but he fought it down; Cas wouldn’t be so casual about taking him up the ass, he’d made that much clear.

 

Dean sighed in relief as Cas’s searing hot cock, slick now, slipped between his thighs, and he instinctively pressing his thighs together to help. Cas groaned into his ear, his slickened hand snaking around to grip Dean’s cock, and Dean’s whole body went taut, his back arching into Castiel’s chest and his breath coming out as a low wail as Castiel‘s hand did a better job than Dean had even known was possible wringing pleasure from his body. 

 

Castiel’s tongue found it’s way inside the shell of Dean’s ear, his breath huffing out in gasps as he rutted against Dean, his hand losing rhythm as he shuddered and twitched and spilled his pleasure between Dean’s thighs, but it didn’t matter; Dean cried out to hear Castiel panting and moaning in his ear, transfixed, his cock pulsing in Castiel’s fist as he followed him over that edge.

 

Castiel didn’t let go, his entire body just went limp, panting, his cock still trapped between Dean’s thighs, and Dean laughed, breathless. 

 

“We should have used a towel, Cas.”

 

Castiel smirked against Dean’s neck. “You’re right. I wasn’t thinking that far ahead, I thought you might need more rest - “

 

“ - Are you kidding me?”

 

“No? You had a terribly exhausting week and Sam said you didn’t sleep Thursday night. That you were in the shower for hours. I’m so sorry Dean, I didn’t mean to - “

 

Dean squeezed his thighs together and earned a surprised yelp. He grinned and relaxed, fought inertia and ignored the mess to flip himself over so he could look Castiel in the eyes.

 

“I wasn’t jacking off, Cas. I just… dunno. Missed you.” He fell short of being willing to admit that he’d pretended the water was Castiel’s arms around him, but Castiel’s eyes were soft, glowing back at him in the sun peeking through the bedroom curtains.

 

“I’m _so_ sorry, Dean; I should have held you all night. I didn’t mean to ask so much of you or to leave you alone afterwards, but... “ He faltered, and Dean finished for him.

 

“But I begged you for it, and you couldn’t say no to this sweet ass.” 

 

Dean grinned and batted his eyelashes, but Castiel didn’t smile, his face serious.

 

“Yes, Dean, you begged me, and your need was more important to me than what I wanted.”

 

Dean’s face fell, his brow furrowing in concern.  “You didn’t… want that?”

 

“That came out wrong.” Castiel’s face went into extreme concentration mode and he chose his next words with obvious care.  “I enjoyed every moment of our time together on Thursday night and I wouldn’t change a thing, Dean - except of course, the location -  but also... not to have done it on a night where I had to be parted from you. It was painful to relinquish you, even to Sam’s care, and it hurt to sleep without you. I expect it was more difficult for you given the nature of our... interaction.”

 

Dean wasn’t satisfied, his teeth worrying his bottom lip. He was silent for what felt like a long time, staring at Castiel, before he spoke again.

 

“And... what did... _you_ want?” 

 

Castiel’s gaze was steady. “I wanted to keep _that_ Castiel under control, Dean. I feared what he... what _I_ might do to you if I did as you asked and… let _him_ fuck you.”

 

“And afterwards?” Dean’s eyes were very bright.

 

Castiel’s serious expression didn’t change, but he blinked slowly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he answered,

 

“I masturbated until I chafed myself and my arm had cramps, imagining what else I would like to do to you.”

 

This time, when Dean's lips spread into a slow, delighted smile, Castiel smiled back. 

 

Dean’s face grew serious, and he gazed at Castiel for several heartbeats without blinking. When he answered, his voice was husky with emotion.

 

“Yes.” 

 

“Yes what?”

 

“Yes, _Sir._ ”

 

Castiel gasped, his pupils flaring wide, and Dean’s heart started to pound in his ears as he felt Castiel’s cock swell against his thigh, but Castiel made no move to do anything about it, so Dean waited patiently, watching his face.

 

Castiel took a deep breath, blew it out slowly, and his voice was almost normal when he spoke. 

 

“I _meant_ , what are you saying ‘yes’ to, Dean?”

 

 _Oh._ Dean stared at Castiel evenly, his eyes soft, his lips curving into an affectionate smile. His voice was mild and fond as he answered. 

 

“I was just reminding you, Cas, in case you forgot, that _anything_ you want to do to me, you have my extremely enthusiastic consent. I am giving you my permission now, so you don’t need to ask me later.”

 

“I haven’t even told you - “

 

“ - _Yes._ ” Dean’s face brooked no argument. “I _know what I want,_ Cas, and _what I want_ is for you to do whatever you want to me, whenever you want.” He grinned wickedly as Castiel’s cock threatened to bore a hole in his hip, and rocked against Cas a little, smugly watched Castiel’s eyelashes flutter and his eyes roll back in his head for a second. 

 

“You can’t tell me you don’t want that too, I can _feel_ that you want it.” Dean smiled encouragingly. “I trust you, Cas. You’ll figure out pretty quick if I’m not into something, and then you’ll do something different.”  

 

Dean reached a hand up to caress the side of Castiel’s worried face, brushing soft fingers over the deep lines furrowing Castiel’s forehead.

 

“I’m not afraid of _that_ Castiel,” Dean whispered. “I want him just as bad as he wants me, okay?” 

 

Dean held Castiel’s gaze without flinching, watching the worry lines around Castiel's eyes change into something else as his pupils flared again, his lips parting this time. As Castiel’s eyes dropped to Dean’s mouth, Dean licked his lips, and slowly, carefully, enunciating every syllable, his voice a low growl, he murmured, “ _That_ Castiel can fuck me whenever he feels like it, okay, Cas?”

 

Dean marvelled in sheer admiration as Castiel gasped and started to pant, staring at Dean’s mouth, rocking slowly, almost painfully, against his hip. _Jesus, I haven’t even gotten it back up yet -_

 

“Cas, does he need to fuck me right now?”

 

Castiel hissed in a breath, his eyes wild. “But there’s lubricant - “

 

“- _I don’t care._ The flavor can only go up from this morning breath, or I’d already have kissed you.” Dean grinned, and raised an “I dare you” eyebrow. 

 

“Come on, Cas,” Dean whispered, his eyes half-lidded. “Let him out to play.”

 

Castiel surged to a sitting position with a groan that sounded like anguish. He reached for a hand towel from the nightstand as he swung his feet out of bed, wiped the worst of the lubricant and ejaculate from his engorged cock with a groan while Dean watched him, eyes wide, holding his breath. Castiel stood up and turned to face Dean then, his eyes raking slowly over Dean's naked flesh, almost all his weight back where it belonged now, acres of freckles still wantonly spattered with the evidence of their pleasure. 

 

Castiel’s face twisted with fierce desire, and Dean’s heart started to pound, adrenaline coursing through his stomach and surging throughout his body as Castiel pointed at the floor and hissed, “ _Kneel._ ”

 

Dean _knelt_ , falling over himself to get out of bed and on his knees at Castiel's feet as fast as he could move, eyes wide and his cock finally rekindling it’s interest as the adrenaline pulsed in his veins and his heart roared like surf in his ears. He instinctively set his hands on his knees and bowed his head, and Castiel did not scold him for not making eye contact, his voice firm but gentle when he levied his next demand.

 

“Look at me.”

 

Dean lifted his eyes to meet Castiel’s gaze, his entire body vibrating with adrenaline and anticipation. Castiel stared at him for several heartbeats, his eyes wide and dark but his face soft for a moment, affectionate. Then his eyes fell to Dean’s mouth, and the fondness on his face was instantly replaced with a snarl of carnal lust, one hand reaching out to cradle Dean’s chin and the other gripping him by the back of the neck as he thrust his hips forward to press his cock against Dean’s parted lips, stretching wide open immediately to accept him. 

 

Castiel didn’t offer any instruction this time, nor did Dean need any, tilting his head back and opening his throat, moaning and rocking forward to meet Castiel’s thrusts as Castiel roughly took his pleasure, his body rippling with the effort. Dean’s entire body flushed with waves of heat as Castiel fucked his throat, Castiel’s hands moving to cradle the sides of Dean’s face and his groans guttural and increasingly feral as he watched Dean with hooded eyes, his attention flicking from Dean’s mouth to his eyes in rapid succession.

 

Dean’s hands twitched on his knees but he did not dare reach for his own cock, did not dare to break eye contact; did his damndest to keep his eyes fixed on Castiel’s face. Castiel wasn’t thrusting as deep this time, taking his time - or needing more time, he _had_ just come twenty minutes ago - and Dean was startled when Castiel let go of his face, pulled all the way out, and crossed his hands behind his back, the arch of his pelvis making his cock look insanely huge at this angle. 

 

Dean’s eyes widened, helpless not to stare, and Castiel grinned smugly to himself, even though Dean had not been given permission to look down. When Dean’s eyes returned guiltily to Castiel’s face he was not in trouble, but Castiel was not smiling either, his expression fierce and expectant.  Dean didn’t dare speak, just stared at Castiel for a hint at what was expected of him, and Castiel obliged, raising an eyebrow and glancing meaningfully at his cock and back to Dean’s face.

 

 _Oh._ Dean complied eagerly, gripping Castiel’s hips and fucking his _own_ face with Castiel’s cock while Castiel stood completely still, at the same pace Castiel had just been fucking him but practicing taking him deeper, like Castiel had done to him Thursday night. 

 

Castiel growled his approval and started to groan in earnest, his vocalizations coming faster and faster with his breath until he came with a guttural shout, his body still completely motionless as Dean swallowed and swallowed until Castiel’s hand caressed the side of his face, then Dean reluctantly slid his mouth off Castiel’s cock, his eyes lifting to meet Castiel’s hooded gaze.

 

For a moment time slowed, Dean kneeling on the floor staring up at Castiel’s face, Castiel staring into Dean’s eyes, his fingers still gently cradling the side of Dean’s face. Dean’s hand twitched but he did not reach for his cock, and Castiel’s eyes followed the motion to Dean’s hand, then his cock, then traveled back up to Dean’s face, and his lips curved into a dangerous smile.

 

“You may come right now, by your own hand, while I watch,” Castiel purred, “Or, you may relinquish your orgasm to me. If you give me your word you will delay your pleasure until I give you my permission to come, you may fuck my throat today, at a time and place of my choosing, sometime in the next twelve hours. Which will it be, Dean?”

 

Dean gaped at Castiel, utterly speechless, his body on _fire. Fuuuck this is gonna hurt._

 

“Your… your throat please, Sir,” he stammered, wincing in anticipation of the epic blue balls this was gonna cost. _Still no contest._

 

“Oh, _very good_ Dean,” Castiel breathed. “I am _very_ pleased with you.”  

 

He watched as Dean flushed, Castiel’s approval washing over him as a physical wave of intense pleasure that Castiel could _see_ rippling over him; tremors that shivered over Dean’s body. Castiel watched with intense satisfaction, and when the wave had passed, Dean’s arousal showing no signs of standing down, the flush high on his cheeks, Castiel nodded and reached for the bottle of lubricant he’d dropped in the bed. He handed it to Dean, who opened his hand to accept it with confusion furrowing his face, and Castiel pressed his thumb to Dean’s bottom lip, shuddering as Dean’s lips parted immediately to accept it.

 

“You surrendered yourself to me without hesitation, despite the pain it would cause you,” Castiel whispered in hushed awe. “You are _exquisite_ , Dean, truly.”  

 

Dean closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to Castiel’s thumb, and Castiel shuddered again, whispered “ _Good Boy_ .” Dean moaned softly, his cock twitching in response but his hands obediently laying perfectly still on his thighs, the bottle of lubricant tightly clenched in his fist, and Castiel’s eyes widened with shocked incredulity, gaping down at Dean with wonder at the _utter perfection_ of Dean’s submission.

 

After a moment, Castiel huskily cleared his throat.

 

“Dean.”  Dean’s eyes flew open, searching Castiel’s face.  “I want you to come by your own hand, right now, while I watch.”  

 

Dean’s face registered confused dismay, and Castiel clarified gently. 

 

“You will still get to fuck my throat, Dean. You may also come right now, as a reward for pleasing me. Will you please do that for me?”

 

 _Holy Shit._ Dean nodded eagerly up at Castiel, eyes wide, his hands trembling in anticipation, and Castiel patted the bed, smiling gently. 

 

“Up here, Dean. It’s much harder to clean the carpet.”

 

Dean scrambled to his feet, laughing, clambered onto a dry section of the sticky sheets, and propped himself on his back on the covers and one of the thick white pillows, squirting lube into his palm urgently, like Castiel might change his mind. The reality of the situation only hit him as he wrapped his hand around his cock and looked up at Castiel’s gorgeous face, lips parted, his undivided attention curling around Dean’s awareness like a physical caress, heavy, and sensual.

 

 _Holy. Fuck_. How many times had he imagined this exact thing, he couldn’t even begin to count. 

 

Dean’s hand came to a complete stop as he stared up at Castiel in awe, and Castiel’s voice was gentle when he asked, “What is it, Dean?”

 

“ _I’ve - I -  I’ve fantasized about this_ ,” Dean whispered, his cheeks suddenly on fire.

 

Castiel’s face lit up in a pleased smile, his hand crossing the distance between them to pet the flush rising on Dean’s cheeks.  

 

“Was it like this?”

 

“Nooo…” Dean’s flush worsened, and Castiel’s open pleasure at admiring it did not help. Dean remained silent, his hand slowly resuming its former motion, and Castiel quirked an eyebrow at him, watched the subsequent ripple of gooseflesh travel across Dean’s body with satisfaction.

 

“Tell me,” he commanded.

 

Dean gulped, nodding. “Um... uh, you would, uh... catch me.” He flushed even darker, his breath coming in gasps now, the embarrassment both mortifying, and to his shame, intensely arousing.

 

Castiel observed him calmly, missing nothing. 

 

“Take your hand off your cock.”

 

Dean complied immediately, his heart racing.

 

Castiel stood up from where he’d been sitting at the foot of the bed, yawned, stretched, slowly wandered over to his dresser. He pulled on clean boxers and a tee shirt, ambled casually to the closet to pull on a pair of jeans, ran his cleanest hand through his hair. 

 

When he turned to Dean, his face was positively wicked.

 

“I am going to go wash my hands and brew a fresh pot of coffee, Dean. While I am gone, I want you to masturbate, but you must not give yourself an orgasm. Stop before you come, then start again when the urgency has passed. I am going to come back up here when I’m done starting the pot of coffee and doing a few things in the kitchen. I’m going to walk up the stairs and down the hallway and I am going to knock on this door, and you are going to say ‘Come in,’ and when I open this door, I expect to see you coming, do you understand?

 

Dean’s eyes had never been so wide in his life. He nodded, mute, and Castiel’s head tilted, his brows furrowing dangerously.

 

“I said, _do you understand?_ ”

 

Dean gulped, tried to speak but nothing came out. He cleared his throat, and voice trembling, managed to whisper, “ _Yes, Sir._ ”

 

“Good. Start now.”  Castiel glanced at Dean’s cock meaningfully and Dean gaped at him, wrapped his hand around his cock, and managed half a stroke before he made a strangled noise and let go, his cock twitching dangerously.  

 

Castiel nodded his approval. “Very good, Dean.”  He turned on his heel and strode out of the bedroom without looking back, shutting the door firmly behind him.

 

Dean stared after him in complete shock for several seconds, his heart pounding in his ears the only sound he could hear, before tentatively reaching down to close his hand around his cock again. He got to three and a half slow strokes this time before letting go in terror, his entire body burning with heat, his desperate desire _not to disappoint Castiel_ the only force keeping his orgasm from cresting. 

 

This was impossibly hot, the hottest thing that had ever happened to him, maddeningly, desperately, painfully arousing, and he was technically alone in a room with his hand. He didn’t dare touch himself again, he was too close, so he took long, slow breaths and strained his ears to hear what Castiel might be doing.

 

Dean could hear Castiel banging around in the kitchen, doing dishes maybe? But he wasn’t doing as Castiel had instructed and that felt bad, made his stomach twist in unpleasant ways, so he tried again, wrapping his hand around his cock slowly and - _nope_ , he let go immediately as he felt his orgasm tip dangerously close, held his breath waiting for the wave to pass. He held it back, barely, and elected to rest both his hands safely beside himself on the bed. 

 

Coming when Castiel wanted him to seemed like the most important part of the instructions if he couldn’t carry out all of them, but it hurt to disobey, and the desperate heat in his body ebbed as the dismay he couldn’t obey grew. He waited quietly, feeling worse and worse with every passing second. 

 

When Dean’s erection finally flagged from the agony of being disobedient, he realized he was safe to touch himself again, the relief in his chest springing tears to his eyes as he squirted more lubricant in his palm and reached for his cock, stroking slowly, pleasure crashing over him in waves, and then there were footfalls on the stairs, steps coming down the hallway, electricity twisting in his stomach and racing up his spine, adrenaline that felt like terror and his cock had never been so hard in his life and Castiel’s voice, half an octave lower than usual, curling around him and _inside_ him, making his entire body tremble, asking, “Dean? Are you awake?” as the knock came at the door - _Oh My God Holy Shit Fuck Fuck Fuck He’s Known The Whole Time_ \- and Dean was gasping, “Come In” and Castiel was opening the door, his eyes flaring in surprise to see Dean like this, wantonly on display, his hand wrapped around his own cock, Castiel’s hand flying to cover his mouth in a passable semblance of shock even as the weight of his attention affected Dean like a physical caress and Dean was howling, his back arching off the bed as he screamed, white hot pleasure so intense it stole his reason and left him lost, spinning out of control, tears streaming down his face as Castiel rushed to hold him, wrapping strong arms around him, heedless of the mess getting on his clothes, grounding him, pulling him slowly back to his body.

 

Dean sobbed into Castiel’s shoulder as Castiel held him, cradling him in his arms, petting his hair, pressing soft lips to his face and showering him with whispered praise “ _You were so good for me Dean, my perfect boy, I am so proud of you, so pleased with you,_ ” but Dean shook his head in anguished protest, wailing, his voice cracking, “ _Nooo I couldn’t Cas, I tried - I tried - I tried b-but I couldn’t I couldn’t -_ “

 

“Couldn’t what, Dean?”

 

“ _I couldn’t touch myself while you were gone, Cas, I tried - I swear - b-but I was too close,_ _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry -_ “ 

 

Castiel’s eyes widened with horror and he squeezed Dean tight, rocking him and petting him and soothing him with gentle assurances, _“No no no Dean you did perfectly I’m so sorry, I gave you an impossible command, this is my fault not yours, please forgive me. I am so proud of you, you knew I wanted to see you come and waiting for me was the most important part of my instructions, thank you, Dean, I am *so* pleased with you._ ”

 

Castiel held Dean tightly, whispering to him gently until the sobs racking his body eased. As Dean hiccuped and quieted, his breathing slowing as he finally relaxed into Castiel’s embrace, Castiel blew out a long breath with a shudder, sucked in another, and whispered, “ _I love you so much it terrifies me, Dean._ ”

 

Dean opened his eyes to stare up at Castiel’s face, his eyes red from weeping but the corners of them crinkling now, matching the soft curve on his lips. “I know exactly what you mean, Cas,” he whispered back.

 

“I’m sorry I broke your trust, Dean.” Castiel’s face was serious, his voice grave.

 

“What? How?”

 

“When you surrender your will to me, Dean, during that time you are under my care. That is a sacred trust of utmost importance, and I accidentally gave you impossible instructions.”

 

Dean stared up at Castiel, completely speechless, as Castiel continued. 

 

“That was an accident, Dean. I _understand_ what it feels like to be unable to complete instructions given under such a trust. It is an agony that is hard to describe to those who have not felt it but I _absolutely have_ , and I am _so sorry_ to have caused you such pain. Please forgive me, and I promise I will do my best to never do that to you again.”

 

Dean nodded, eyes wide, and Castiel’s face went soft, and a little wicked.

 

“When I cause you pain, Dean, I intend for it to be intentional.”

 

Dean’s eyes flared wider as he sucked in a startled breath, and Castiel grinned down at him, his eyes sparkling.

 

“How do you not need to urinate yet, Dean?”

 

Dean groaned, shaking his head and trying to sit up.  “I’ve had to piss for an hour, but something came up.”

 

Castiel snorted, helping Dean to his feet. “Ahh, youthful vigor,” he sighed, and Dean smirked at him as he stood up.  Castiel laughed as Dean’s eyes practically crossed and he _ran_ out the door to the bathroom, slamming the door in his haste. 

 

Castiel shook his head as he stripped himself and then the bed, tossing the soiled clothes and sheets in the hamper. He was going to need to buy several more sets of sheets and quite a few more hand towels, at this rate.

  


***

  
  


Castiel carried the hamper down to the laundry room to shove the sheets in the washer and to bring Dean’s duffel up to the bedroom. When he knocked on the bathroom door Dean was just climbing into the claw foot tub, and he yelled “Come in!” with far more ease than the last time he’d done the same, sighing into the stream of water, soaping his pits rapidly so he wouldn’t waste a drop of hot water.

 

“You gonna shower, Cas?” 

 

“Yes, Dean. Wouldn’t want morning breath on my dick all day.”

 

Dean spit himself laughing, gasping for breath in the middle of soaping his undercarriage. 

 

“That’s fair. Adding lube wasn’t really an improvement after all, Cas.”

 

“I had no expectation it would be, Dean. But I appreciated the white lie.” Castiel was smirking, Dean could _hear_ it, even though his eyes were tightly shut as he shampooed as quickly as he could.

 

“ _Worth it_ ,” Dean muttered, and Castiel’s face went soft, watching him through the clear shower curtain.

 

“Will you wait for me before you go downstairs, Dean?” Castiel asked quietly as Dean turned the water off and pulled the curtain open.

 

Dean looked surprised, his forehead crinkling, but he answered, “Sure, Cas,” without hesitation, and Castiel nodded gratefully. 

 

“It’s not a big deal, I just want…” He shrugged, unwilling to spoil the surprise. “Will you please wait in the bedroom once you’re dressed?”

 

Dean nodded, baffled, and they parted ways. Castiel caught the last of the hot water and a bit of the cold, cursing quietly to himself, and brushed his teeth and tongue thoroughly but urgently, desperate to see Dean’s reaction. He rushed to the bedroom, found Dean obediently dressed and waiting, laying on his back on the stripped bed with his hands clasped behind his head and a cocky smirk on his face. Castiel’s relief that Dean had done as he asked was tinged with an inconvenient frisson of desire sending blood where he did not want it as his glance took in the tableau of his _boyfriend_ laid out like a wrapped gift, and he shook his head in frustration as Dean’s effect on his body did not go unnoticed, a _smug_ smile curving Dean’s lips.

 

“Yes, I want you, Dean,” Castiel groaned, crossing to his dresser to pull on boxer briefs and a fresh tee shirt, “But I _always_ want you. I also need to feed myself and take care of my responsibilities,” he sighed, pulling on a different pair of jeans from his closet while Dean watched, his eyes half-lidded and glowing almost yellow like a cat’s in the bright sunbeams breaking through Castiel’s curtains. 

 

Castiel stood at the foot of the bed, socks and sneakers in one hand, the other akimbo on his hip, his eyes soft as he finished the thought. “Trust me, Dean, it’s taking all the willpower I have not to keep pressing that lever like a rat, until we both perish of starvation, I suppose.” He smiled affectionately down at Dean, caressing a naked foot with the tip of his index finger, watching Dean’s entire body shudder and his pupils, tiny in the sunshine, twitch valiantly and then shrink again.

 

“ _Come along, my Sweet Addiction_ ,” Castiel whispered. “Sustenance. I need you at full strength for later.”

 

Dean moaned softly, his hand flying over his mouth in surprise, and Castiel raised an eyebrow. He crooked one finger at Dean in a “come here,” gesture that lifted Dean bodily, as if by magic, first into a sitting position and then on all fours crawling towards Castiel and then kneeling in front of him, still on the mattress at the foot of the bed, their faces even. Castiel lifted his free hand to the back of Dean’s neck in a gentle caress as he leaned forward to press their lips together, a kiss that started tender and ended with Castiel’s hand gripping the back of Dean’s neck cruelly, Castiel’s tongue as far into Dean’s mouth as he could shove it, his body pressing Dean backwards as Dean eagerly melted, until Castiel groaned in anguish and broke it off, adjusting his erection more comfortably in his jeans with a frustrated grimace.

 

“Come on, Dean,” Castiel sighed. “I ate a light breakfast and I am hungry enough to feel myself becoming irritable. You barely touched your dinner last night, you must be famished.”

 

Dean scrambled to his feet, collecting his shoes and clean socks from his duffel. 

 

“I had a polite amount of appetizers at the damn _cocktail hour_ meeting Cas, but yeah, I could eat an entire pizza by myself right about now.”

 

“Well, let’s go see what Sam left us, shall we?”

 

Dean reluctantly followed Castiel out the bedroom door, surprised when Castiel disappeared downstairs so quickly he was already out of view as Dean shut the door behind himself. _Jeez he really must be starving, couldn’t wait three seconds -_

 

As Dean descended the stairs he saw that Castiel was waiting for him at the foot of the stairs and hadn’t gotten all the way to the kitchen yet, that was odd, and _Oh. OH._

 

Dean’s mouth fell open as Castiel watched his face keenly for his reaction.

 

“Wow. That’s… _red_ , Cas.”

 

Castiel snorted, his face half smug, half uncertain.  

 

“Do you like it?” Castiel’s voice was… shy, and Dean’s startled glance flew to Castiel’s face.

 

“I _love_ it, Cas,” he breathed, “but it doesn’t matter what I think, it’s your living room.”

 

That was apparently not the right thing to say, because Castiel’s face betrayed a microexpression of hurt disappointment before he turned abruptly to look at the couch instead of Dean, his face carefully neutral. Dean stepped forward to wrap his arms around Castiel from behind, staring over Castiel’s shoulder at the couch while Castiel’s carefully neutral face did the same, his eyes definitely not misting.

 

“I _meant_ ,” Dean murmured into Castiel’s ear, “That no matter what color you picked out of that swatch book thing to go with your living room paint color, I was going to love it, because _you did this for me_ , Cas. So I wouldn’t have to look at - “ Dean’s voice hitched and he squeezed Castiel tighter for a moment, gulping air, Castiel’s hands coming up to hold Dean’s hands over his chest.

 

“ _Thank you_ , _Cas,_ ” Dean whispered. “ _I love it._ ”

 

The breath Castiel blew out had a slight quaver to it, but Dean politely pretended not to notice, holding him tightly, his lips nibbling Castiel’s earlobe just a little until Castiel shuddered and pulled out of the embrace, turning to face Dean.

 

“I cannot _wait_ to bend you over this couch, Dean,” Castiel murmured, turning on his heel to cross into the kitchen while Dean stared after him and then turned back to gape at the couch, picturing it.

 

It was a pretty great visual, actually, and Dean raised his voice to carry, calling out, “Wait, is that why you picked this color?”

 

“Yup.”

 

 _Holy Shit._ Dean shook his head, marvelling at the bottomless depths of Castiel’s depravity. _How fucking lucky am I? Jesus._ He wandered into the kitchen to see what Castiel was up to, and found him splitting the scant contents of a steaming rectangular ceramic dish of beef between two plates. There were other, similar dishes on the table containing cheese and lettuce and tomato and sour cream and slightly browned guacamole in a pleasing grid and Dean poked one with his finger. It had a nice heft to it, and he nodded his approval as he sat down and Castiel handed him a plate.

 

“Did I miss taco salad last night?” His glance traveled to the counter, where about half the pie remained after Sam had gotten done with it. “And _pie?_ ” Dean’s forehead wrinkled in confusion as Castiel stared at him in surprise.

 

“You ate a few bites, Dean, but you were falling asleep at the table, and Sam insisted I put you to bed.” Castiel suddenly looked worried, setting his plate down and studying Dean’s face. 

 

“What do you remember from last night, Dean?”

 

It was Dean’s turn to go all shy, his shoulders hunching as his cheeks flushed and he answered, haltingly, “Uh, hottest night of my life, Cas, ‘n then you, uh, got emotional cuz you needed to… say it.”

 

Castiel’s face registered overwhelming relief, and he handed Dean a serving spoon for the taco fixings. “ _Thank god_ ,” he muttered, and Dean paused, spoon in mid-air, to study his face.

 

“You didn’t take advantage of me, Cas,” Dean said slowly, “but you have my _explicit permission_ to start stuff anytime you want. Even if I’m asleep, or - or drunk, okay?” Dean turned to do battle with the lettuce as he declared emphatically,  “I am _giving_ myself to you, Cas.”  He gave up on attempting to spoon lettuce and picked up the serving dish to scoop half of it onto his plate, set it down and meet Castiel’s eyes again. 

 

“Capice?”

 

“Capice,” Castiel whispered, blinking rapidly. 

 

He accepted the serving spoon from Dean gravely as Dean handed it off so he could tilt and pour tomatoes, and busied himself spooning lettuce. It was inefficient at best, and he could _feel_ Dean’s satisfaction as he lifted the serving dish to dump the rest of the lettuce onto his plate.

  


 


	73. Instant On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stand by what happens next a thousand percent. :-D

It was a bright, sunny day, and by the fifth store Dean was dripping in sweat. They’d visited three plumbing supply specialty shops before driving back to the first one for the instant on water heater Dean judged the best, made a fourth stop for additional fittings they hadn’t found at the first shop once they’d made their decision, and a fifth stop to actually find gas for the torch Dean had picked out at the third store. The parking lots were vast seas of black asphalt, shimmering with heat, the parking a nightmare since  _ everyone  _ seemed to have chosen today to get their home repair on, and Dean wiped his forehead on his sleeve as he and Castiel climbed back into the Pimpmobile after loading the latest round of purchases into her trunk.

 

Dean hadn’t really noticed anything unusual consciously, but there was something different about Cas today, and he’d found himself accidentally standing too close several times, finally realizing it as Castiel shifted slightly away on his heels while they cross interrogated their third salesman; just a couple inches of space that Dean had suddenly realized he shouldn’t be standing in. He’d been more careful since then but alone in the car now, as they closed their doors and Castiel flipped on the AC and set it to recirculate, Dean gingerly relaxed into the blazing hot upholstery, sighed in relief as the AC hit his face, and his nostrils flared. Castiel’s deodorant was falling down on the job, and he smelled  _ fantastic _ .

 

Dean glanced at Castiel’s face as he maneuvered his beast into traffic. Castiel was also glistening with sweat, and Dean’s glance fell to his underarms, which were definitely showing signs of the day. Dean nonchalantly looked back at the road while surreptitiously taking another breath through his nose, deeper this time.  _ Holy Shit.  _ Dean was completely taken by surprise by his sudden erection, and he fought his arousal in embarrassment, breathing inconspicuously through his mouth to collect himself. He wondered, suddenly, exactly when in the next twelve hours Cas had meant to let him come again, and did not find that train of thought at  _ all  _ helpful in attempting to stand down.

 

“Can you smell me?” Castiel asked apologetically. “I was in such a rush to get downstairs to see your face when you saw the couch, I forgot cologne  _ and _ deodorant today. I can tell I’m starting to get ripe and I’m sorry, here, I’ll switch to outside air - “

 

“-  _ Don’t, _ ” Dean protested, his hand reaching out to stop Castiel from touching the controls. Castiel looked confused, worry creasing his forehead as he watched the road, but Dean pulled his hand away from the controls, pushed Castiel’s palm against the crotch of his jeans instead.

 

“ _ Yes, I can smell you,”  _ he murmured, his voice rough and shy. 

 

Castiel’s eyes flared in surprise. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t remove his hand, either. Dean’s hand tingled where his fingers rested on Castiel’s hand, the way they always had since the first time they’d ever touched, but the heat of Castiel’s fingers sparked through his jeans and against his cock, too, and he gasped when Castiel stroked his fingers lightly against the denim. 

 

“Are you hungry, Dean?”

 

“What? Why?” Dean stared at Castiel’s soft smirk, his breathing labored. Castiel’s fingertips slooowly stroking his cock through the denim were maddening, but he desperately didn’t want him to stop, either.

 

“I  _ had _ planned to take you out to dinner and then let you have your way with me,” Castiel purred, “but we could change the order, if you prefer.”

 

“ _ I prefer, _ ” Dean squeaked, his eyelashes fluttering as Castiel pressed down, hard, before continuing his slow stroking.

 

“Alright,” Castiel agreed easily. He pulled his hand back from Dean’s crotch, squeezing his thigh in reluctant parting, to take the wheel so he could pull the signal lever with his left hand, taking an exit Dean was unfamiliar with. They were nowhere near Castiel’s house, at least thirty miles South by Dean’s reckoning, given how far they’d had to travel to get to the stores Castiel had chosen, and Dean looked around in confusion as Castiel maneuvered the streets, until he pulled up in front of a motel with a faded “Trusty Motor Inn” sign out front, one with a conspicuously newer neon “Rentals by the Week, Day, or Hour!” sign below that, and Dean’s eyes widened in surprise.

 

“You come here a lot, Cas?” Dean drawled.

 

Castiel snorted. “Never. But I asked around this morning and this place is clean, discreet, and doesn’t have hidden cameras. Wait here.”

 

Dean stared after him with his mouth hanging open as Castiel strode rapidly to the motel’s office.  _ Hidden CAMERAS? _ His mouth was still open when Castiel returned to collect him, reaching into the back seat for what Dean had assumed was his laptop case, but on closer inspection was a similar but different bag. Castiel strode directly to the door that they’d parked in front of, which seemed like a hell of a coincidence…

 

“Wait, did you book this room before we left the house?” Dean’s attention had been on Castiel’s hand as he fumbled with the key, but he looked to Castiel’s face now as his hand paused and his face split into a smug grin.

 

“Yes.” 

 

Castiel returned his attention to the key, flipping it over since it didn’t want to go in the way he had it, and it slipped in with ease. Dean covered Castiel’s hand with his before he could turn it, and Castiel turned to look at Dean curiously. 

 

“I - I need to know which Cas I’m going in here with,”  Dean murmured hesitantly. “I… just need a minute, Cas, to be, uh, ready.”

 

Castiel nodded seriously, pulling his hand back from the key. “Of course, Dean. Tell you what, why don’t you go ahead. I’ll go sit in the car, and you take all the time you need, and then text me if you want Cas or Castiel, okay?” He started to turn back, but Dean’s hand was already on his arm, stopping him.

 

“Cas,” Dean whispered shyly.

 

“Yes, Dean?” Castiel studied Dean’s face intently, and Dean fidgeted where he stood.

 

“I - I want Cas,” Dean whispered, and Castiel’s eyes went so soft Dean’s heart almost shattered in his chest.

 

“Come on,” Castiel replied softly, turning the key in the lock and pushing the door open. “He wants you too.”

 

 


	74. The Trusty Motor Inn

Dean stepped into the motel room and stopped dead, Castiel almost running into him as he came in behind him and shut the door.

 

“What - “ Castiel fell abruptly silent as his mouth fell open and he and Dean took it all in.

 

It was like stepping into an old Western Saloon movie set, if saloons had a giant red velveteen bed and a dark brown faux-leather couch instead of tables and liquor. The walls and ceiling were completely done up in dark wood or maybe pretty decent fake wood paneling - Dean couldn’t tell. It had a decent wooden beam archway separating the faux-leather couch and rustic table and chairs area they were standing in from the alcove with the bed, painted cowboy cutouts in cowboy hats and boots and jaunty belt-grabbing poses in front of billowing red curtains forming room dividers on either side of the archway, with what looked like real steer horn details attached in an alcove above. 

 

There were glowing birch bark lampshades, a real-looking wagon wheel light chandelier hanging down over the bed, dozens of dark wood framed cowboy prints on the walls. As Dean’s eyes hit the floor he could see by the reflection the rugs were actually shiny vinyl, but he instantly gave them a pass because they were  _ printed _ to look like cowhides; even the bathroom door was painted to look like an old-timey saloon door. The place would have been the whole nine, except for the jarringly gauche and exceedingly anachronistic six-foot tall black metal tripods with giant VHS camcorders perched on top, one trained on the couch and one on the bed, each with its own hulking television and umbilical cord cable tether beside it on a “substitute teacher day” style rolling television cart.

 

When Dean finally tore his eyes away, sparkling, to meet Castiel’s, Castiel was utterly horrified.

 

“Dean I had  _ no idea _ \- “

 

“Cas this is  _ awesome -” _

 

They stared at each other, Dean’s face falling at Castiel’s expression, and Castiel’s perking up at Dean’s.

 

“You didn’t know?” Dean asked.

 

“I mean, they said the Cowboy room was available, but I assumed that was some sort of gay wink to put me at ease - I had no  _ idea _ \- and Dean I  _ promise  _ you when my friend said no  _ hidden  _ cameras I never in my wildest imagination thought I needed to ask about VISIBLE cameras…”

 

Dean snorted, crossing to examine the closest camera; the one trained on the couch. It was empty, the tape hopper open, with a white sticker on the side advertising “See front desk for battery rental and to purchase blank tapes.”

 

“This is kind of a genius upsell, Cas,” Dean observed, following the cable to the back of the TV, and examining the panel carefully.

 

“They weren't lying. This is a closed loop; no cables leaving the room. I mean, I’ll check the one pointing at the bed, too, but I think we’re good - “ Dean crossed to the other camera, checking it as well. “- Yup all good, no signal leaves the room. And it’s clean, Cas. I think they delivered as promised.  _ Better  _ than promised. And I swear this room looks familiar...”

 

Dean crossed back to the door - which he noticed with delight was painted to look like a swinging saloon door with a view to blue sky on the inside - to stand in front of Castiel, who hadn’t moved from when he first stopped dead behind Dean five minutes ago, still clutching his bag and looking dismayed. Dean stepped into Castiel’s space, slipped his hands low around Castiel’s hips, pulled their pelvises together, his face inches from Castiel’s worried frown. 

 

“Come on, Cas,” he wheedled gently. “I’m sorry it’s not classy like you deserve, but I  _ love _ it. Can we stay for just this once, then I promise we’ll find a place you like better?”

 

Castiel stared up at up at Dean’s pleading face, and his expression shifted from dismay to amused affection.

 

“Dean, if you’re happy, I’m happy. I was worried you’d think that I picked something like this on  _ purpose _ , that it had some bearing on how I  _ feel _ about you - about, about  _ us _ . I  _ swear _ Dean, I would  _ never _ take you to - to a - a  _ den of iniquity -  _ “

 

Dean cut off Castiel’s complaints with a soft press of his lips over Castiel’s mouth, grinning and muffling Castiel’s protests until Castiel snorted and kissed back, tenderness breaking through the awkwardness of the location as Dean gently licked his way into Castiel’s mouth.

 

Castiel sighed and leaned resolutely into the kiss, trying to push through his ruined mood, but obviously having trouble rising to the occasion. Dean rubbed his back gently, pulled up on the tongue, kissed his way across Castiel’s already rough cheek. He bent his lips to Castiel’s ear, whispered softly, “It’s okay, Cas. We don’t  _ have _ to use the cameras.” 

 

Castiel snorted, laughing, and shoved Dean away to set his bag down on the heavy wooden side table, reaching inside to pull out two pairs of dollar store flip-flops.

 

“I smell awful, Dean. Let me just jump through the shower, I brought us shower shoes and - “

 

“-  _ Don’t _ .  _ Please. _ ” Dean’s eyes were pleading, his face suddenly shy.

 

“What? Why not?” Castiel looked up at Dean in confusion as Dean stepped towards him, crowding into his space until he reflexively stepped back once, twice, stopped with his calves pressed against the side of the motel couch, two pairs of flip-flops still clutched in his fist, staring up at Dean in dismay.

 

“You said I could have my way with you, Cas.”

 

“Yes, and you will, of course, but - “   
  


“Cas... ” Dean flushed furiously, but he pushed through, desperate to make Cas understand, to make him _say_ _yes_. 

 

“I’ve never, uh, popped a boner from smelling anyone before, Cas. You...  _ do  _ something to me, and I just…  _ please,  _ just…  _ please _ let me touch you _ just the way you are.” _

 

Castiel blew out a breath and nodded his acquiescence, dropping the flip-flops and relaxing, his stance going from defensive to inviting. He blinked once, in slow-motion, leaning forward as he lifted his lips to Dean’s ear to breathe, “Anything you want, Dean.”

 

Dean shuddered, his eyes dropping to Castiel’s mouth, his voice thick as he answered, “I want  _ you. _ ”

 

Dean eagerly reached down for Castiel’s tee shirt hem, peeled the damp shirt up his body in slow-motion, bending down to lick a stripe from Castiel’s navel to the crease between his pecs as he lifted the shirt, his pulse quickening and his arousal rekindling as he tasted the salt from Castiel’s body. Castiel shuddered, lifting his arms to help with shirt removal and Dean gasped as he breathed Cas in, the effect on his body rapid and powerful, his jeans suddenly painfully constricting. Dean winced and groaned in discomfort as he reached down to unzip them, and Castiel observed Dean carefully as he pulled his own shirt off the rest of the way, experimentally lifted it to Dean’s preoccupied face, bent over stepping out of his boxers now, his jeans in a heap on the floor beside his boots.

 

Dean straight up  _ moaned _ , flushing in embarrassment but leaning forward helplessly to suck in a strained breath through the fabric as Castiel shoved it against his face, holding it over Dean’s nose and mouth and watching keenly, his eyes wide with interest. Castiel pulled the shirt away to let Dean breathe and Dean almost followed his hand, stopping himself as he realized what he was doing and looking up at Cas guiltily, his face sheepish, his hand gripping his bare cock tightly now, to ease the ache already starting from going from zero to sixty in three seconds.

 

Castiel’s face held no judgement, only pleased discovery, and his hand came up to pet Dean’s flushed cheek gently. “I don’t have another shirt here,” Castiel murmured, “or I’d let you  _ destroy  _  this one, Dean.” He stepped away to drape the damp fabric over the back of one of the chairs while Dean gaped at him, returned to stand in front of Dean, meeting his eyes calmly until Dean broke the eye contact in embarrassment. 

 

“Nothing that arouses you is off the table, Dean,” Castiel assured him, his hand cupping Dean’s jaw gently, one thumb stroking his cheek. 

 

Dean lifted his eyes to meet Castiel’s shyly, wincing with shame, and Castiel shook his head in gentle reproach. “Don’t be embarrassed, Dean, I  _ like  _ that you want me so much.” He reached for Dean’s free hand, pressed his fingers over the zipper of his jeans as emphasis, and yeah, he definitely liked it.

 

“How do you want me, Dean?”

 

Dean forgot his embarrassment in the face of such a delightful question, eagerly tripping over himself to pull off his shirt and drape it over the chair next to Castiel’s as he instructed “Naked on your back on the bed, please, Cas.” 

 

Castiel did as he was asked, stripping rapidly the rest of the way and pulling back the faux red velvet monstrosity of a bedspread to lay his sticky body down on fresh blood-red sheets, wincing at how gross it felt but distracted in an instant as he watched Dean crawl across the bed to come to him, eyes like a predator, his lip raised in a half snarl as he dove for Castiel’s chest, grazing teeth and tongue across taut muscle and trailing a single finger lightly up Castiel’s cock as his teeth found a nipple and clamped down, hard. Castiel gasped, his back arching off the bed, and Dean’s hand wrapped around his cock to squeeze in slow pulses while his tongue coaxed moans from Castiel’s lips, soothing gentle, flat-tongued caresses over his freshly abused nipple and then working his way down the side of Castiel’s chest and into his armpit, licking and sucking and panting as he lost himself to inhaling Castiel’s scent, his cock straining against Castiel’s thigh.

 

“I could die happy in there,” Dean sighed finally, lifting his face to meet Castiel’s eyes, Castiel’s scent still heady on his lips and face where he’d been nestling and fawning.

 

“Please don’t,” Castiel answered calmly, his eyes twinkling. He undulated his hips so that his cock fucked up into Dean’s fist, and sighed in frustration when Dean loosened his grip to thwart him.

 

“What can I do to you?” Dean asked. “Am I only allowed your throat or - “

 

“You asked for  _ Cas _ ,” Castiel groaned, “and Cas says  _ anything you want _ , Dean, just, for the love of god,  _ soon _ .” Castiel mock scowled at Dean’s smug grin. “Supplies are in my bag.”

 

Dean leapt out of bed to collect what he wanted, dropping the supplies next to Cas on the bed and crawling up Castiel’s body again, this time to press soft lips to his stomach, to run his hands up Castiel’s thighs and hips and ribs as he worked his way up Castiel’s chest and throat with lips and teeth and tongue, petting his hair and nibbling his earlobe and kissing his rough cheeks and the corner of his perfect mouth without meeting his gasping lips with full contact, rolling a nipple harshly in his fingers while he explored the smooth flesh behind Castiel’s ear with his tongue, the sweat there making his dark hair twist into perfect little curls that Dean tasted on his way back down Castiel’s neck to his shoulder, the muscles there thick and salty and Dean couldn’t help himself from sinking his teeth in a little harder, his hand working south to rip open a lube packet and grip Castiel’s cock tightly in his slickened fist, moving his hand so slowly you could barely call it a stroke, while he gulped in a guilty inhale under Castiel’s arm, came back up to press plush lips to Castiel’s nipple, delicately licking and sucking much more gently than his fingers had just been teasing.

 

Castiel moaned and writhed, Dean’s fluctuation from pain to pleasure shorting out his circuits, everything crackling with tension now and he squirmed with impatience, arching his back to try to grind up into Dean’s fist. Dean let him for several thrusts, loosening his grip to allow it, then tightening back down and moving with Castiel’s thrusts so there was no friction at all, until Castiel groaned in frustration and flopped down on his back again, panting.

 

Dean grinned down at Cas, smug. “Holdjer horses, Cowboy, I’m getting there.”

 

“Oh my god.  _ Really, Dean? _ ” Castiel groaned, and Dean smiled so hard his face practically split open.

 

“I’m gonna try something, I need you to let me know if I do it wrong, okay, Cas?”

 

“Okaaay…”

 

“Shut your eyes.” Dean’s voice was soft, and Castiel did as he was asked without hesitation, sighing as Dean’s mouth traveled across his chest, licking his way to his other nipple, nibbling, working his way down Castiel’s obliques again with teeth and tongue, his hand slowly stroking Castiel’s cock, disappearing for a moment to scrabble with supplies, reappearing to grip Castiel’s cock a little more slickly, and bringing a friend; Dean’s condom-wrapped middle finger pressing hesitantly against Castiel’s perineum. Castiel groaned and tilted his hips up in invitation, and Dean got bolder, pressing further back, soft, slick caresses back and forth without penetrating until Castiel moaned in frustration and whispered, “ _ Do _ it,  _ please. _ ”

 

Dean went for it then, pushing until he felt the ring of muscle give way to let him slip inside, a weirdly hot sensation, and he lifted his head from worrying Castiel’s navel with his teeth to check out the view, one hand slowly stroking Castiel’s cock, the other buried to the hilt behind his balls, a view  _ definitely _ worthy of the venue. Castiel’s pheromones were even stronger down here and Dean gasped as they hit him, the sense of urgency he’d been unable to reclaim since they stepped into the room finally crashing over him in a wave of desperate heat. He crooked his finger a little experimentally, earning a gasp from Castiel, and a whispered, “Just a little further, bend your finger up more,  _ Hngg - yes _ \-  _ right there, Dean,”  _ as Castiel’s body convulsed off the bed, his back arching and his cock straining in Dean’s fist, his hands flying up to cover his mouth as he howled into them.

 

Dean grinned fiercely in success, instructed sternly, “No. Don’t cover your mouth, Cas, I wanna  _ hear _ you.” Castiel made a noise of embarrassed protest, still muffled behind his hands, but Dean shook his head, adamant. “This place rents by the hour, Cas, no one cares.  Plus, you said nothing that turns me on is off the table, Cas, and  _ trust me _ , you enjoying yourself  _ redlines my engine _ ,” Dean insisted, smirking.  “Pinch your nipples instead - not too hard yet, not ‘til I say.”

 

Castiel moaned his obedience, moving his hands from his mouth to his chest, gasping as Dean’s lips grazed the end of his cock -  _ Oh god - the sweat - and lubricant too - surely he wasn’t going to _ \-  _ OHHH god, he *was* -  _ Castiel let out a garbled cry that started as a protest and ended in raw pleasure, his back arching helplessly off the bed as the searing heat of Dean’s mouth joined his hand around Castiel’s cock, tag-teaming to stroke his entire length in a seamless, slick slide of heat and pressure. 

 

Dean gave Castiel a rhythm now, still slow but steady, pulsing his finger inside Cas against the spot that made him scream and buck, twisting his wrist on his downstrokes and sliding the flat of his tongue as far down Castiel’s cock as he could, until his hand hit bottom and his lips hit hand, sliding back up to breath through his nose and slide back down, each breath more heady than the last, the bitterness of the lube and sweat a trivial detail, completely worth Castiel’s panting crescendo of moans as his back arched off the bed, growing more frantic by the second, until Dean covered the head of Castiel’s cock with his hand to slip spit-soaked lips off far enough to hiss, “ _ Now, Cas. Hard enough to hurt!”  _

 

He slipped his mouth back down over Castiel’s cock as Castiel obeyed, twisting fingernails into his nipples, his entire body arching into Dean’s face as Dean’s slick hand disappeared from Castiel’s cock, heading south to grip his own aching cock, spilling over his fist the moment his hand closed, his shuddering pleasure an afterthought as he sucked in one last pheromone-laced breath and swallowed Castiel down as far as he could, working his throat and finger at the same steady pace, keeping Castiel’s spiral teetering on the razor’s edge of the drop for an impossibly long, precarious moment, time slowing as Castiel’s breath sucked in as a series of “Ah- Ah -AHHHHHH“ warning cries, his orgasm weightless, hovering, like a roller coaster car at the top of the climb, before he  _ screamed  _ over the edge and entirely off the rails, hurtling fast, slamming into Dean’s face so hard Dean had a split second to decide whether to take the force with his nose or pull a Lorena Bobbitt, stars swimming in his vision as he shuddered in the aftershocks of his orgasm, groaning and dizzy as he lifted his face, tasting blood.

 

Dean tilted his head back, pinching his nose with his lubed hand and slipping his finger out of Castiel to do a one-handed uncondoming, flipping the condom inside out as he’d seen Cas do to keep from direct butt-to-anything contact. The nosebleed was gushing pretty fast and he fervently hoped that was all his blood on Cas’s dick, leaping out of bed to grab the motel washcloths, wetting one for Cas and using the other to absorb the flow. Castiel’s eyes fluttered open and then flared wide in horror to see Dean’s face, widening in fear, but Dean waved him down, handed him the damp washcloth.

 

“Please make sure that’s all mine, Cas; took everything I could do not to let you cut your dick off with my teeth when you bucked.”

 

“ _ Oh god, I’m so sorry Dean - _ “ 

 

“- It’s cool, Cas. Sex injury. Riding the bull.” Dean grinned under the washcloth and Castiel made a disgusted noise, the mortification on his face notwithstanding. He dabbed at his softened cock and found no injury, but Dean was sitting beside him, gently tracing a finger along his obliques, and his glance fell to Castiel’s nipples, which were welling small beads of blood.

 

“Jesus, Cas, it didn’t have to hurt  _ that  _ much...” 

 

Castiel followed Dean’s glance, his eyes widening in surprise. “It felt good at the time, Dean! I tried, but I couldn’t get it to hurt; I didn’t know I was cutting myself.” He dabbed at them in turn with the washcloth, winced.  Castiel looked up at Dean sheepishly, his face shy.

 

“I’ve never - uh, that was - “ Castiel took a deep breath as Dean unpinched his nose so he could pull the washcloth away to meet Castiel’s eyes. 

 

“I’ve never felt anything like that before, Dean. That was... intensely pleasurable.”  Castiel had a realization, glanced furtively at Dean’s cock to see if he was needed, his eyes traveling back up to Dean’s face in guilty relief and flaring with concern at Dean’s left nostril, a drop of blood slowly trickling, “You’re bleeding - “

 

“- Yeah I feel it,” Dean agreed, tilting his head back, washcloth and pinching fingers already back in action, his voice protesting from behind the cloth. “But - you did exactly the same thing to me, like two nights ago - “

 

“I’ve done a lot of things I’ve never been able to experience for myself, Dean,” Castiel answered softly, his eyes closing as he relaxed into one of the blood red pillows. Castiel’s forehead furrowed with wistfulness, remembering. “I understood from observation that they must feel very good, but honestly most of the experiences I tried recreating on my own didn’t seem that interesting, and that particular one was never something I was flexible enough to try.”

 

The smile Castiel’s joke brought to Dean’s lips did nothing to ease the sting in his eyes or the pain in his chest, but he hid behind the washcloth, sucking in as quiet a breath as he could manage, hoping Castiel wouldn’t hear the quaver. If he did, he was polite enough not to mention it, and this time when Dean tentatively removed the washcloth, his blood stayed put.

 

“I didn’t get that you didn’t even know how good you were making me feel on Thursday,” Dean said softly, stroking a finger along Castiel’s ribs until he wriggled from the tickling. “ _ Really, freaking, good,  _ Cas. Like, I’ve been wondering how I’ll work up the balls to ask you to do it again, good.”

 

“I can see why,” Castiel answered dryly. “If I had managed that one at home, I might never have left the house again.”

 

Dean snorted. “What comes after black belt, Cas?”

 

Castiel spit himself a little, snickering. “Touché. I barely leave the house now.”

 

“Speaking of, can we stay in tonight? Unload the car tomorrow? Order in, rent a movie, split that last piece of pie? Test out the new couch?” Dean sighed just thinking about it, and Castiel’s face went soft, staring up at him.

 

“Dean, that sounds... absolutely wonderful.”

 

“Awesome. Let’s shower and pull on our disgusting clothes and go home.”

 

Castiel did not expect the sudden sting in his eyes or the tightness in his chest to hear Dean call his house  _ home _ , and he pulled on his flip-flops and followed Dean to the shower with a warmth pooling in his chest that he absolutely, positively, could name.

  
  


***

  
  


When Castiel headed to the motel office to return the key, Dean trailed after him despite Castiel’s assurances he could handle it, a gnawing worry in the back of Dean’s mind compelling him to make sure Castiel understood without a hint of a doubt that Dean was  _ proud  _ to be with him, and without the work situation hanging over their heads would be  _ glad  _ to be seen as a couple, even though how he actually felt right now, if he were being completely honest with himself was… a little nervous to stand in front of someone who would know without a shadow of a doubt he and Castiel had just had sex, and  _ totally _ willing to sit in the car and wait. 

 

The look Dean got when he stepped into the office behind Castiel was not at all anything he expected, no leer, no judgement, rather the hulking forty-something bearded bear behind the counter gave him a casual once-over glance, nodding appreciatively at his body in kind of a non-lecherous, more art connoisseur way, and stopping dead at his face, his forehead crinkling into concern and his eyes flicking to Castiel and back briefly with a fleeting scowl before he smoothed his face and offered Castiel a pen and paperwork to sign without a word. As Castiel bent over the paperwork, the clerk’s eyes sought out Dean’s, and he silently mouthed, “Do you need help?” his horn-rimmed bespectacled face earnest, and kind.

 

Dean was baffled for a split second before he realized how his face must look, and he stepped up to the counter, beside rather than behind Castiel, shaking his head almost imperceptibly at the clerk, who nodded back.

 

“We did a number on the sheets,” Dean offered conversationally, his tone light and friendly as Castiel looked at him in surprise. “My fault, really, I didn’t know he’d buck that hard,” Dean continued, wincing as Castiel blushed furiously and looked down at his hands in mortification, “but I’m sorry, I got a nosebleed all over the bed and the towels. Should we pay for those, or - ?”

 

Castiel looked up at that, his concern about not having mentioned it momentarily overtaking his embarrassment, and the clerk shook his head, grinning. 

 

“We’ve got a couple industrial washing machines going twenty-four seven next door at the laundromat,” he answered, “Same owner. We’ve never met a stain we can’t get out, not even those Casa Erotica numbnuts, although we made them bring their own linens when they started doing candle wax - “

 

“ - Oh my  _ GOD,” _ Dean interjected, “I  _ knew  _ that room looked familiar!!! Volume six,  _ Buckaroo Broncos! _ \- “

 

“A fan, I take it?” the clerk asked, grinning at Dean’s wide-eyed delight, his grin widening as he took in Castiel’s complete bewilderment watching Dean’s face.

 

“Yes, yes I am,” Dean confirmed, turning to Castiel to exclaim with smug delight, “Cas, we just did it on a  _ real live porn set -” _

 

Castiel’s face did not reflect Dean’s enthusiasm, leaning more towards horror as Dean turned back to the clerk to ask enthusiastically “Did they shoot any more here - “ he glanced at the clerk’s name tag and grinned even wider - “Mister Baloo?”

 

The clerk smirked and offered his hand, which Dean shook enthusiastically, to introduce himself. 

 

“Jason.”

 

“Dean. A pleasure, Jason.”

 

“The pleasure is mine, Dean. Hells yes they did, check out the posters by the vending machine, Dean; we have all of them on pay-per-view, you can watch them in the rooms if you switch the TV to outside signal - “   
  
“What? Oh my  _ GOD, Cas, can we pleaaaase - “  _ Dean was turning to a mortified Castiel to wheedle before it occurred to him and he turned back to Jason to ask sheepishly. “Uh, do you have any uh -  gay - Casa Erotica?”

 

Jason beamed at Dean and Castiel in turn, wheels spinning, and he turned to Castiel with his full attention for the first time since they’d stepped into the office.

 

“Turned one for the home team, sir? Way to go!” he beamed as Castiel stared at him in confusion, and Dean stepped fully into Castiel’s space, wrapped an arm around his stiff shoulders possessively, and murmured quietly into his ear, “He means did you make me go gay, Cas. Which you  _ totally did. _ ”  He turned back to the clerk and announced a little louder for his ears, “One and done. Who knew, right? But yes, I’m on team Castiel now, permanently.” 

 

The clerk shook his head in mock disappointment at the early lock-down, and Dean grinned at him for the compliment, shaking his head in response. He squeezed the arm around Castiel’s shoulders a little tighter and Castiel relaxed a fraction, Dean’s easy confidence in their relationship in front of this stranger unexpected and very welcome, even though he was still drowning in embarrassment from Dean’s brash discussion of what he was a thousand percent certain should have been a private detail. 

 

“ _ Anyway, _ “ Jason continued, “Hells yes they do, they call that series  _ Casa Erotica: Mano a Mano.  _ We have all of those too, volumes one through seventeen, very popular with our clientele and they have several more... coming soon.” Jason winked,  the single-entendre pulling an eyeroll from Dean and a snort from Castiel, who nevertheless looked more than ready to leave.

 

Dean turned to Castiel now, to wheedle in earnest, his face pleading. “Cas, we can find a different place if you’re not into this one I totally get why, but they have  _ other movie sets,  _ we could watch the movies in the  _ rooms they were filmed in.”  _ Dean’s voice dropped and Jason politely turned away to busy himself with paperwork as Dean whispered his confession quietly to Castiel  “ _ I… kinda grew up on these movies, Cas. I’ll pay for the next one, we don’t have to stay or do anything after we watch the movie, *please*, Cas?” _

 

Castiel took a deep breath to collect himself, held it for a moment, blew it out slowly, staring at Dean’s hopeful face.  _ Dean doesn’t know how hard you had to fight to survive. How many times you said no, or the kind of work that was left to the boys who wouldn’t go on camera. This is only a good thing for him.  _ He nodded slightly, and let the pleased delight on Dean’s face wash into the hidden places that hurt, filling him instead with fierce joy.  _ Yes.  _ He would give Dean all the pleasure he had never felt in these places, and remove their power over him. 

 

“But only if  _ Castiel  _ takes you here _ , _ ” he heard himself whisper, and the dark desire inside him  watched Dean’s eyes flare with heat and answered with a swell of arousal he had to fight tooth and nail to stop dead; * _ Jesus Christ* do NOT get an erection in front of the porn motel desk clerk. _ He took Dean’s sharp intake of breath as a firm yes and stepped up to the desk to signal the clerk and quietly ask if there was a room list with a little more information about the decor. 

 

Jason handed him a thick black binder with a wink and a polite smile, and Castiel smiled at him finally, a real smile that got a real smile in return, before turning to flip through the binder, his eyes widening at the vast and imaginative array. He only got a half-dozen pages in before he turned the page and saw  _ exactly  _ what he wanted next, handed it to back to Jason to ask if it was available next Wednesday night.

 

“For an hour, or - “

 

“All night, if that’s possible.” Castiel shrugged and accepted that Jason was going to be at least tangentially inside their circle of trust. “You are located midway between our homes, and we cannot be seen leaving or arriving at work together, so I thought a midweek rendezvous would make the distance a little easier to bear -  _ Oh,  _ I see what you mean.” He grinned at Jason as Jason grinned back, and thought about it for a minute, tapping his finger on the binder.

 

“Do you have any more… traditional motel rooms?” 

 

Jason’s grin widened by degrees, and he shook his head. “Nope. But we have a sister property a couple towns over if you don’t mind a drive in between...” Castiel looked dubious, and his glance traveled to Dean, currently poring over the Casa Erotica posters next to the vending machine, as he considered how Dean had been after the last time, and the time before that. 

 

Studying Castiel’s face shrewdly, Jason nodded to himself and made a decision. “I have a deal with the motel across the street. All the crew stay there when they are doing shoots here on a weekly rental. I give them a ton of business; I’ll get you my rate. Can you move him that far afterwards?”

 

Castiel turned back to Jason in surprise, studying his face in return. An understanding passed between them, and Castiel nodded seriously.

 

“I can, thank you Jason. I don’t know how long until I can move him though, I don’t have enough data points to take an average yet. Can we do a four-hour rental, say seven to eleven?” He looked at Jason hopefully, and Jason grinned and nodded yes.

 

“Most of my weeknight business is during the rush hour commute, then it’s conveniently dead for a few hours so my cleaning crew can get everything pristine again, then it picks up again between eleven and three am. Your timing is impeccable Mr Novak - ”

 

“ - Castiel, please,” Castiel protested, and Jason nodded, smiling, continuing seamlessly, “ - Castiel. The motel across the street is by the day and check-in is after four, so when you rent one of our... less traditional rooms, I’ll be glad to reserve a room there as well for you, will that suit?”

 

Castiel nodded, pleased. “That would be wonderful, thank you Jason. You said ‘same owner’ earlier, but that’s you, isn’t it.”

 

Jason nodded, grinning. “You caught me. It’s easier to deal with most of my customers if I pretend to be a desk jockey, Castiel, but I like you crazy kids. I don’t see the actual L word out here all that frequently - plenty of everything else, though, boy howdy - “ he winked and Castiel snorted, “ - so I like to do what I can to help along the real deal when I see it.”

 

Castiel nodded his appreciation, closed the binder and handed Jason his credit card, just as Dean wandered over to protest, “But I was gonna pay for next week - “ 

 

“Let your man get it this time, Dean,” Jason interjected, winking at him, “Because the things he’s gonna do to you in  _ that  _ room should be on his dime.” 

 

Dean’s mouth fell open in a mixture of shock and embarrassed betrayal, and his eyes flew to Castiel’s face in hurt accusation just as Jason added, with impeccable comedic timing, “... I imagine.”

 

They both turned to stare at him, Castiel with an incredulous grin and Dean with wide eyes, an embarrassed flush creeping across the back of his neck.

 

“Serves you right for speaking out of turn when we met,” Jason answered Dean’s palpable discomfort, and Dean hung his head guiltily, even as Castiel looked confused. “A simple no would have sufficed,” Jason added mildly, handing Castiel back his credit card. “It was a real pleasure meeting you both, y’hear? Come see me again anytime.”  He smiled again, a real smile, and they smiled back, making their exit wordlessly to the car, to sink into their respective seats and stare at each other for a moment, before speaking simultaneously.

 

“- Oh, I  _ like _ him, Cas.”

 

“- Jason is  _ quite _ perceptive.”

 

“What did he mean speaking out of turn, though?” Castiel asked, studying Dean’s face.

 

Dean winced, reaching up to rub the back of his neck sheepishly with one hand. 

 

“He meant I shouldn’t have embarrassed you, and he’s right, I’m sorry Cas.” Castiel looked quizzical, and Dean explained further. “When I came in with the banged-up nose, Cas, when you were signing the papers, Jason asked if I needed help.” It was Castiel’s turn to wince, looking at the black eyes starting beside Dean’s nose, and Dean nodded. “Yeah. So I panicked, and I embarrassed you explaining it was a legit sex injury with private details that should have stayed between us, and I shouldn’t have said any of that. That’s what he meant by ‘a no would have sufficed,’ and I’m really sorry Cas.” Dean’s face pleaded forgiveness, and Castiel nodded his understanding. His instinct had been correct then, that  _ was  _ information that should have been private.

 

“I was  _ very _ embarrassed, Dean,” he agreed, suddenly remembering with vivid detail Dean’s pained wince as his own face had fallen, “but I understand. Thank you for protecting me.”

 

Dean was taken aback, his forehead furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean?” 

 

“You took responsibility for changing the narrative when it looked like I had abused you, Dean. The method you came up with on the spur of the moment lacked a certain decorum, but you did it out of love, and I appreciate your intent.”

 

Dean’s face lit up with relief at being forgiven, and with something else, too. 

 

“I  _ did,” _ he tried tentatively, his face lighting up even more as  _ those _ words came with ease.

 

Castiel stared at him, his face suddenly tortured with a desperate yearning, his breath trapped behind the lump in his throat. He was speechless for a long moment before finding the courage to whisper, his voice trembling, “You love me, you can’t help yourself.”

 

Dean’s eyes widened at Castiel remembering, and he eagerly whispered back, “I  _ do,”  _ the words coming without hesitation. They stared at each other in shocked discovery, Castiel’s eyes welling with tears and his lip trembling as Dean leaned forward to kiss him gently, tenderly, wincing and hissing as Castiel pressed forward and his nose brushed against Dean’s. They broke apart, and Castiel took a deep breath, noticing the bruise had spread a little further even since they’d left the motel room, and he nodded, reaching a hand to gently cradle the side of Dean’s face.

 

“Put your seatbelt on, Dean. I’m stopping at the first pharmacy I see for ibuprofen and an ice pack for your face, and then we’re going to feed ourselves, and then we are breaking in that new couch, with or without the ice pack. I promised you some throat action today, and I will not be so easily dissuaded by your wiles, capice?”

 

Dean grinned, delighted. “Capice.”

 

“Wait, say it again first,” he begged, reaching for his seatbelt obediently without tearing his eyes away from Castiel’s face.

 

Castiel brought his other hand up so he was cradling Dean’s face in both hands, Castiel's eyes practically glowing, blue opals with flecks of fire, reflecting the dying embers of the setting sun, as he intoned, firmly, without a single quaver,

 

“Dean Winchester,  _ I love you,  _ with everything I am, and everything I will ever be, and  _ You. Love. Me. Back. _ ”

 

Dean was already nodding as Castiel finished, his voice thick with emotion as he answered, without even a microsecond’s hesitation, 

 

“Castiel Novak, I  _ do,  _ I  _ absolutely do.” _

  
  
  


 


	75. Sofa King Good

Too much heat pulled Dean from a deep, dreamless sleep, and he wrapped his arms around Castiel just a little tighter and sighed contentedly, nestling a little closer and pressing a kiss to the back of Castiel’s neck before he winced, reminded that his face was  _ very  _ tender. Castiel moaned in his sleep, arching his back and pushing the curve of his ass into Dean’s cock, now stirring as well. Dean grinned to himself sleepily;  _ Jesus, he’s insatiable *and* contagious.  _

 

He cracked a bleary eye to guess at the time, but it was still pitch black out. The television was playing an infomercial for some sort of inflatable bed featuring a live tiger, the volume too low for Dean to make out what they were saying. He stared at the tiger, somehow being coaxed into lounging on a bulging air mattress for this commercial, and he shut his eyes, remembering Castiel stepping into his space at work so many months ago, the day they’d confronted Alastair. Becoming the predator that day, for  _ him _ . To protect him. Even though Cas had been too sick to eat thinking about it, and smelling his own cologne had given him a headache. 

 

Another memory tripped through Dean’s train of thought and he sucked in a breath, horrified.  _ Even though he was so fucked up about that army asshole, accusing Cas of assault after the handjob he’d made Cas give him. Abusing Castiel’s kindness and turning his uncertainty in unknown social situations into a *fucking weapon* against him _ . Dean’s blood boiled with sudden rage and he took a deep breath as quietly as he could, held it for a count of seven, slowly let it out for a count of eight against the back of Cas’s neck.

 

Castiel whimpered in his sleep, a sound very like some of the ones he’d made on his back in the Cowboy Room, and Dean’s dick woke up for real this time, pressing insistently against Castiel’s ass and spinning Dean’s mind into a kaleidoscope of images from their day together.

 

_ Castiel’s sweat on his tongue, his scent filling Dean’s senses, his garbled cry of protest turning into a helpless cry of pure rapture as Dean’s mouth slid down over his cock.  _

 

Dean shuddered; that one was going to be his go-to for ages, he could already feel it. 

 

_ Castiel, howling in pleasure, his pelvis slamming into Dean’s face. _

 

Dean winced, that one had  _ hurt,  _ but  _ Holy Hell  _ had it been HOT. He hissed out a breath, willing himself not to wake Cas but ever-so-slowly undulating a gentle thrust against him anyway, the thin sheen of sweat between their naked bodies making it feel better than it had any right to. Castiel arched against him in his sleep, and Dean’s mind helpfully supplied a flashback of earlier tonight on this very couch.

 

_ Castiel’s hands, caressing him gently, reverently, long fingers tracing his body like he was made of something precious and rare, his eyes so soft, like he still couldn’t believe any of this was real.  _

 

Dean’s eyes stung, even though they were closed, and he leaned forward gingerly to press his lips to the back of Castiel’s neck again, without letting his nose touch this time.

 

_ Castiel’s eyes watching his face as he knelt on the carpet between Dean’s knees, pressing a soft kiss to the head of his cock. _

 

Dean had shuddered, the fabric of the sheet they’d wisely decided to spread over the new couch cool against his back as he leaned into the cushion and watched Cas watch him, hope and embarrassment burning his face, the flush rising as Cas smiled knowingly but said nothing, waiting, hands gently sliding along the backs of Dean’s thighs, warm and slow, his palms sliding back until he was cupping Dean’s ass cheeks, one in each hand, gently kneading as he slipped lips and tongue around the head of Dean’s cock, suckling tenderly, his fingers firmly nowhere near where Dean fervently wanted them to go.

 

Dean’s eyelashes fluttered in pleasure, _Jesus,_ Cas was great at this, but… nothing had ever felt as good as what Cas had done to him a couple nights ago and watching him now, his face so soft, his hands still caressing, not tentative or exploratory like the first time in the car, not pressing against his fear like under the fluorescents in the locker room, gently giving him _phenomenal_ head on the probably very expensive couch he’d bought Dean as a gift, Dean suddenly realized this was _Cas_ , _all Cas_ , * _not*_ _Castiel_. Cas, he remembered suddenly, who had wept with terror, slumped on the bathroom floor, at even the _idea_ of taking something Dean did not mean to give him.

 

_ That  _ Castiel had coaxed him into exploring the pleasure just past the limit of his fear, but only after Dean had begged him to take the wheel, begged him to take  _ anything he wanted _ , his desire to show Dean what was possible obviously implicit in the lust and need for control that scared Cas and drove Dean  _ wild _ ... but Cas and probably Castiel as well were done tempting him now. They’d shown him, they both knew he wanted it, and he was suddenly one million percent certain he wasn’t going to get it again until he asked.

 

Dean groaned in embarrassed anguish, and Castiel retrieved a hand from cupping his ass cheek to wrap it around his cock instead, lifting spit-slick lips from the end of Dean’s dick to raise his far too innocent gaze to meet Dean’s eyes. 

 

“Yes, Dean? Is there anything… else I can do for you?”

 

Dean groaned, the embarrassment almost as painful as the ache starting in his face again. He winced, reaching for his nose but resisting the urge to poke at it for the umpteenth time at Castiel’s warning head shake and bemused smile. Castiel nodded, slipped away, leaving Dean cold all the places they’d been touching, to return moments later with more advil and a glass of water. Dean accepted both gratefully, downed them, set the glass down on the too-wide coffee table they’d pushed aside that he  _ knew _ had to be driving Cas nuts.

 

Castiel watched him carefully, sank down next to him on the couch to collect Dean’s right hand in both of his, lift it to his lips, press soft lips to his fingertips, innocently at first, then wrapping his lips around Dean’s index finger to press the flat of his tongue against the pad of Dean’s finger and do that  _ thing _ , pulling a gasp and moan out of Dean, his eyes closing as he leaned back into the cushions, panting.

 

“I  _ know  _ what you want, Dean,” Castiel whispered. “Why is it so hard for you to ask me for it?”

 

“I don’t _know,”_ Dean moaned. “It’s _so. fucking. embarrassing,_ Cas, I can’t even explain it. It’s like it’s dirty and wrong to want it, like _I’m_ dirty and wrong somehow.” He opened his eyes to stare at Castiel in pain as one of Castiel’s hands slipped away to stroke Dean’s thigh soothingly, his gaze fond.

 

“Dean, you cannot shock me. There’s nothing you can ask me for I haven’t - “ Castiel fell silent, his forehead furrowing at Dean’s slow smirk, and he considered his phrasing carefully for a moment, clasping Dean’s hand tightly in his before continuing. “I  _ mean,  _ anything at all you want to try, I am  _ eager  _ to try with you, Dean. You make everything brand new. I’ve never enjoyed any of this before, and now I  _ cannot get enough of you _ , Dean. There is literally nothing I would rather do than give you pleasure.”

 

Dean’s face bloomed in bashful delight, and Castiel smiled back just as shyly, his free hand still tracing slow fingertips up and down Dean’s thigh. A moment passed between them in comfortable silence, softly smiling at each other, before Castiel had a thought.

 

“Wait, is this as hard as saying…” Castiel paused as he watched Dean wince - not about his face this time - and his voice was gentle as he asked, “Do you need us to find a way around this, too?”

 

Dean shook his head. “No, it’s not like that, and it wouldn’t be fair to you to pretend it was, just to make it easier on myself. I’m a grown man, I can  _ do  _ this.”  Dean took a deep breath, looked Castiel in the eye, and grinning sheepishly, formed the sentence.

 

“Cas, will you please fuck me with your finger while you, uh, blow me?”

 

Castiel spit himself laughing while Dean turned fifty shades of scarlet, grinning ruefully and shaking his head in embarrassment, but Castiel nodded enthusiastically, wiping his eyes and answering, “Of course, Dean. Gladly.” He pressed a kiss to the back of Dean’s fingers, still clasped in his hand, before releasing them and observing, “It would be easier for me if you were on your back, though.”

 

Dean fell over himself to rearrange his body on the couch, the arousal that had briefly flagged during his embarrassment completely recovering with anticipation, and he snorted as Castiel retrieved lube and a condom from under the couch -  _ Oh my god sunuvabitch was WAITING -  _ only to gasp instead as Cas wrapped his lips around his cock, his condomed finger pressing against Dean’s entrance without preamble, waiting only long enough for Dean to tilt his hips up to slowly start pushing inside him, the sensation utterly delicious without the  _ fear. _

 

Dean’s eyes fluttered back in his head, utterly rapt as Cas worked him fore and aft, not even pushing all the way in yet, just teasing in and out, Dean’s guilt at the  _ filthiness  _ of doing such a thing no match for how  _ fucking good _ it felt, and to his shame he found himself whimpering and bearing down into it, gasping with disappointment when Cas pulled out, groaning his pleasure when Castiel’s finger brought more lube and a friend. 

 

Castiel didn’t give him more than his second knuckles until he had Dean writhing and moaning and babbling garbled half-phrases, mostly variants of “ _ Please Ca- Cas - Oh god Hnng PLEASE - “,  _ and then he threw an arm over Dean’s stomach just the way Dean hadn’t thought to do to him earlier today, pinning Dean’s hips to the couch with his weight as he curled his fingers up and in, fucking into Dean until he hit that sweet spot, swallowing around Dean’s cock at the same time, not pulsing his fingers in place this time, actually thrusting in and out instead while Dean convulsed under him, howling into his own fist, mindful of the neighbors, the horror movie they were rolling in the background in no way covering Dean’s cries as Castiel dragged him screaming into ecstasy.

 

Dean shuddered in remembered pleasure, moving gently against Castiel where they lay entwined now, in the same position they’d ended up in after.  After Cas had slipped his fingers out of Dean. After Cas had cleaned him up with a hand towel, disappeared into the bathroom while Dean lay dazed on his back, semicomatose, to reappear with freshly washed hands reaching for lubricant, stroking himself urgently over Dean. After Dean’s eyes had flown open and he’d tried to sit up to help but Cas was already coming, staring at him, panting, his eyes wild, and Dean had to be satisfied with dipping a finger into the puddle in his navel and pressing it to his lips, Castiel’s eyes flaring wide and his lips parting with heat to see it.

 

They’d tried to kiss but Dean’s face was in too much pain, so Castiel had cleaned him up again, crawled into his arms on the couch like they’d slept on New Year’s Eve, pulling Dean’s arms over his chest, to whisper, “Did you like it?”

 

“You know damn well I did.”

 

Castiel had snorted in satisfaction, kissing Dean’s arm where it crossed his chest, whispering softly, “ _ I love you, Dean. _ ”

 

“ _ And? _ ” Dean whispered, holding his breath, hoping Cas would understand and not take it flippantly, but Cas was already on his wavelength, kissing his fingers, whispering, “ _ and you love me back. _ ”

 

“ _ I do, Cas,”  _ Dean sighed, tightening his arms and grazing soft kisses along the nape of Castiel’s neck, hissing as his nose connected.

 

“Stop that,” Castiel had scolded sleepily, you’re hurting my  _ boyfriend _ .”

 

“Yes,  _ Sir,”  _ Dean had whispered back, but Castiel’s breathing was already evening out, and Dean had reached up to touch the lamp off and press the volume down on the remote, letting the flickering of the TV and Castiel’s breathing lull him into a dreamless slumber. 

 

Until now.

 

Dean wondered idly if Cas would mind if he just… he tentatively slipped his top arm out from under Castiel’s hands, his breath already hissing too loud, too fast, despite his efforts to be quiet. He meant to reach for his own cock but Castiel moaned and nestled against him harder, crushing him against the cushions and making the prospect of getting a hand in there unlikely without waking him, but Cas was moaning and twitching against him now, clearly having a  _ very  _ nice dream, and Dean snaked a hand over Castiel’s hip to gently stroke Cas’s cock, craning his neck to delicately trace the shell of Castiel’s ear with his tongue, panting hot air over moistened flesh and painstakingly keeping his nose well away from the proceedings.

 

Castiel moaned, his voice thick with sleep, and when he spoke his voice was so dreamy, Dean wasn’t even sure he was awake.

 

“I dreamt you taking me in Baby again, Dean. But it didn’t hurt this time, and I didn’t cry.”

 

Dean’s eyes flew open, his forehead creasing in concern.

 

“Cas?”

 

“Mmm Hmm?”  Castiel writhed languidly in Dean’s stilled grip, and Dean rippled his fingers absently for him while he formed the question, his voice very careful when he asked.

 

“When did you, uh, dream about me in Baby before? Did I - was I - hurting you?”

 

Castiel was silent for a long moment, and when he spoke again he did not sound sleepy anymore.

 

“I had a dream about you a week after you... stopped speaking to me, Dean. I was doing my level damndest not to think about you during my… self-care, but after I fell asleep I dreamed you taking me in the back seat of Baby. It was different than before. In my dream I was aroused. I climaxed, and it woke me, and I cried myself to sleep with grief because I would never be able to tell you how I felt.”

 

Dean let go of Castiel’s cock to wrap both arms around his chest, kissing the nape of his neck and holding him tightly while Castiel’s hands came up to cradle Dean’s arms over his chest. They lay in silence for a minute but Dean couldn’t let it go, and he asked again, his voice breaking.

 

“Why - why was I hurting you, Cas?”

 

Castiel planted a trail of soft kisses on Dean’s arm where he could reach it. 

 

“I was already in pain from fucking myself too fast - to get it over with before I thought of you - so I assume my subconscious repurposed the sensation.” Castiel sighed, the memory obviously unpleasant.  “I just - it wasn’t you - I mean, it was just a bad memory at first, but it turned into you in the dream, Dean, and I was  _ glad _ . ” He fell silent, adding so quietly Dean could barely make it out, “Until I woke up.”

 

Dean’s chest hurt. He shut his eyes, and didn’t even try to hide the quaver as he sucked in a shaking breath, pressing his cheek against the crook of Castiel’s neck.

 

“I don’t ever want to hurt you,” he whispered.

 

“I  _ like  _ when you hurt me,” Castiel answered softly, his voice smiling.

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

“Yes.  _ I love you, too, Dean. _ ”

 

They lay entwined for maybe a whole minute, listening to each other’s hearts beating while Castiel’s breathing and heartbeat gradually increased in speed, until Dean grinned against Castiel’s neck and whispered, “You’re thinking about me hurting you  _ right now, _ aren’t you.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Want me to?”

 

“ _ Yes.” _

 

 

 


	76. On Demand

 

Castiel’s eyes flew open, the sunbeam peeking through the bedroom curtains and brushing across his eyelids conspiring with the pressure in his bladder to pull him, blinking, from a dreamless slumber. He slipped out of Dean’s arms and paused for a moment to admire the sweep of Dean’s eyelashes brushing the curve of his cheek, freckles glowing in the soft light of morning, before tiptoeing out the door and down the hall to relieve himself, wincing slightly at the soreness he had absolutely, positively, enjoyed every moment of acquiring last night.  He slipped noiselessly back into the bedroom to pause beside the bed, staring down incredulously at his  _ boyfriend. _

 

Dean was utterly gorgeous in this light. He was gorgeous in every light, Castiel silently acknowledged to himself, nodding at the truth of it, but the way the sun fell across his face just now, his forehead smooth and unconcerned, just that one errant wisp of hair falling across it, his eyelids gently shut without any of the weight he usually carried creasing them above the deepening bruises that Castiel winced guiltily to see, his lips so soft and full and just  _ begging _ to be stretched wide… Castiel sucked in a breath as quietly as he could, gripping his suddenly painful erection tightly in one hand and shaking his head at himself as he slipped back into bed beside Dean... who  _ had _ asked not to be allowed to sleep in, and further,  _ had _ granted an intriguing blanket permission yesterday morning…

 

Castiel took in the sheet wound around Dean at a glance, did some mental geometry, ever so gently loosened here, untwisted there, froze as Dean sighed and shifted in his sleep. Dean did not wake, and Castiel slowly let out a breath and drew in another before gently wrapping his lips around Dean’s freed cock, holding him delicately against the warmth of his tongue for a moment, the feeling gentle and intimate and unlike anything he’d ever felt before; Dean’s flesh soft and warm and slowly swelling in his mouth as he held it intensely erotic. 

 

Castiel flattened his tongue and suckled as Dean’s cock answered his ministrations with interest, breathing through his nose at first, then not at all, as Dean’s cock filled his throat and Dean’s gasps filled his awareness, Dean’s pleasure the only thing that mattered.

 

Dean startled awake as Castiel’s mouth wrapped around his cock, the soft, wet warmth and heat delicious even as he blinked, disoriented and gasping, his hips arching towards the pleasure; the pressure in his bladder warring with the intensity of the exquisite sensation suddenly dominating his entire awareness. Cas was doing something with his tongue, something that ratcheted his pleasure up and up until the delicious tension was more powerful than the distracting tightness in his bladder, until he cried out, his hands clutching at the fabric around his hips, Castiel’s throat coaxing his climax from him, warm hands gripping his waist to hold him still.

 

Dean’s wail of anguish surprised them both, and Castiel gently released Dean’s cock to climb up his body, to wrap his arms around Dean’s shoulders and cradle him as he panted, his chest heaving and his eyes filling with tears.

 

Castiel kissed his forehead, whispered, “Did I hurt you, Dean?” but Dean shook his head vehemently, burying his face in Castiel’s chest, clutching at him desperately and fighting for breath, fighting tooth and nail to compose himself.

 

“You don’t have to fight your feelings so hard,” Castiel whispered. “You will never scare me away, Dean, I promise.”

 

Dean barked a laugh that sounded more like a sob against Castiel’s shoulder. He sucked in a deep, quavering breath, lifted his face to look Castiel in the eye.

 

“I still can’t believe this is real, Cas. I keep thinking I’m gonna wake up.”

 

“I know exactly what you mean.” 

 

Castiel’s gaze was steady, his eyes glowing in the sunbeam falling across his face, and Dean stared up at him in disbelief.

 

“And then I wake up - or at least I  _ think  _ I do - and you’re still here, and I just - “ He stared up at Castiel helplessly, eyes wide and shimmering. “How could I possibly deserve… this? you? To feel so  _ happy _ , to have someone like  _ you _ … love...  _ me? _ ”  

 

Dean’s eyes spilled over and his eyelids fluttered shut as he blinked rapidly, Castiel’s thumb coming up to delicately brush the tears from Dean’s cheeks as he answered, his voice soft and low.

 

“No one  _ deserves _ their way into love, Dean.” 

 

Castiel smiled gently, his face terribly fond, as Dean’s eyes blinked open to study Castiel’s face, his forehead furrowing in confusion. 

 

“Love is not awarded by merit, nor by entitlement, nor by entreaty, no matter how worthy the supplicant. Love isn’t something you can _ earn _ , Dean. Love is a gift we can give each other.”

 

Castiel bent down at Dean’s soft sob to press his lips to Dean’s mouth, morning breath be damned, and Dean melted, straining up in Castiel’s arms to kiss him, wrapping his arms around Cas and moaning into his mouth, first with raw emotion, and then in pain as their noses touched. 

 

Castiel broke off the kiss at Dean’s sound of pain, pulling away to trace a finger lightly over one of the purple half-circles under Dean’s eyes, Castiel’s face an agony of apology. 

 

“I am  _ so  _ sorry about this, Dean.”

 

“S’cool, Cas. It’ll heal. Now hold that thought I  _ have  _ to take a piss but I want - “ 

 

Dean slid out of bed, his glance falling to Castiel’s cock, neglected and straining against his stomach, Castiel’s body still arched in the graceful curve he had curled into to cradle Dean. 

 

“I want - just - please don’t start without me, okay?” he pleaded.

 

Castiel wrapped his hand around his cock, arching an eyebrow at Dean, frozen halfway to the door now, eyes wide and glued to Castiel’s hand as Castiel slooowly stroked himself, his other hand reaching for the nightstand drawer. 

 

“No deal. I suggest you hurry, Dean.”

 

The squeak Dean accidentally let escape as he bolted out the door made Dean’s cheeks flush fire engine red and Castiel’s answering wolf grin spread so wide his face ached almost as much as the pooling warmth making his chest three sizes too tight.

  
  


***

  
  


“Why are you heating the pipe instead of the fitting?” Castiel asked, watching carefully as Dean held the torch to the pipe just shy of the copper elbow, watching for something Castiel could not see before cursorily waving his flame under the elbow, expertly touching his bent solder wire to the joint and watching it wick instantly underneath the fitting. Dean drew a quick circle all the way around the lip of the connection and rapidly moved to do the same to the joint on the opposite side of the fitting, barely needing to touch the flame to the pipe there.

 

“Something about ‘diferencial de calor’ and ‘el extrusionado,’” Dean commented wryly, “I got an entire earful from  Matías when I asked.” 

 

Dean grinned, turning off the flame and setting down his equipment to study the assembly they had going so far. Water heater attached to the wall, check. Copper piping to and from the water heater, check. Sort of. Now they had to actually cut into the live water pipe and split the cold to install their new endrun around drawing hot from the old water heater, and cap off the hot line that used to go to the tub.

 

“From what I could gather from what went by in  _ very  _ fast Spanish,” Dean continued, spinning the little wire brush inside the copper cap while he glared at the ancient shutoff valve he was supposed to trust, “The manufacturing process for pipe versus fittings is different, so if you heat the fitting instead of the pipe, it’ll overheat and you’ll burn it and the pipe still won’t be hot enough to take the solder.”  He turned to grin at Castiel proudly. “I begged to try and  Matías let me just for a minute but then I was so good at it he let me do the whole bathroom.”

 

“Of course you were good at it.” 

 

Castiel’s smile was soft and proud _ , _ and Dean suddenly felt warmer than even the close quarters and open flame he’d been running moments before should account for.

 

“I’m nervous about those valves,” Dean admitted, scowling. “I know we’re leaving the sink alone, so this is like minimally invasive surgery, but if those valves don’t hold, it’s gonna suuuck.”

 

“No way to find out but to try it,” Castiel said cheerfully, and Dean beamed at him.

 

“Okay. Turn it off and I’ll open the hot on the shower, let’s see what we get.”

 

They turned to their separate tasks, returning to stand elbow to elbow and glare at the showerhead as it balefully dripped at them.

 

“Is that weeping, or what?” Dean whined petulantly, and Castiel laughed. 

 

“No idea. Cut it off and find out.”

 

Dean shrugged and did as he was told, tightening the minicutter turn by turn and spinning it around in the bare inch available between the pipe and the wall, the cutter turning through years’ worth of thick white paint and then finally copper, a surge of water pouring out onto the floor as the hard metal wheel finally severed the pipe.

 

“Towel, stat,” Dean commanded, and Castiel handed it over - his worst one - already on standby to be a rag.

 

“Cleaning mesh thingy,” Dean instructed, but Castiel already had a foot of it in hand, accepting the cutter and handing over the mesh.

 

“I bet that paint is lead, and I further bet we should absolutely not breath the vapors from heating it,” Castiel observed, and Dean nodded gravely, whipping the cloth around the pipe to start working on the layers of paint. They were hard as a rock, and Dean grinned up at Castiel, nodding at the open window.

 

“We’ve got ventilation, and once won’t kill us. Hand me the torch, wouldja?”

 

“Dean!”

 

“It’s not sanding at  _ all  _ Cas, and I bet the vapors aren’t as bad as the dust. And a sheetrock knife if you’ve got one in that toolbox.”

 

Castiel didn’t, but he had a flat-tipped screwdriver, which Dean accepted gravely as probably close enough. He alternated heating and scraping for a while, long stripes of paint scraping off as globs he wiped into the paper towels Cas ran downstairs to get him.

 

Eventually he got enough off to go back to the abrasive mesh, hissing as his knuckles grazed hot copper, and worked it for a while in silence, Castiel’s attention heavy and pleasant.

 

Dean set the mesh strip down to reach for the plastic tub of flux but Castiel already had it in hand, passing it over for Dean to brush around the end of the freshly shiny pipe and inside the cap, which he slid onto the end of the pipe, torch in hand, to ask casually, “So, what room did you book for Wednesday, Cas?”

 

Castiel snorted gently, reaching over to hand Dean the roll of solder, the end bent into a ninety degree hook as he’d watched Dean do earlier.

 

“Nice try, Dean.”

 

“Really? Not even a hint?” 

 

 Dean wiped the tip of the solder around the joint, nodding in satisfaction as it wicked in perfectly.

 

“I wouldn’t  _ dream _ of spoiling the surprise.”

 

Dean snorted, heaving himself to his feet and rubbing his knees where they were numb from kneeling on the tile. 

 

“Fine, be like that.”

 

“I am unequivocally, emphatically,  _ exactly  _ like that, and you love it.”

 

“I unequivocally,  _ emphatically _ do.”

 

They beamed at each other across the pile of construction debris long enough for tectonic plates to shift and several new continents to form. Eventually, Dean wiped the sweat beading on his forehead onto his tee shirt sleeve. 

 

“Shit, I hope this works, I’m gonna need a shower when I’m done.”

 

“It  _ better  _ work, plumbers cost a  _ fortune  _ on the weekends - “

 

“Calm your tits, I got this.”

 

Castiel snorted. 

 

“My tits are perfectly calm, Dean. My rising adrenaline levels, maybe not so much.”

 

“Well, the first valve held, maybe the second will too. Same drill.”  

 

Dean bent down to turn the cold off this time, and Cas flipped the shower on. They stared at the drip together for a while.

 

“Is it still going?” 

 

Dean’s eyes were narrow slivers, and Castiel shrugged his shoulders helplessly.  

 

“I really can’t tell. Maybe?”

 

“Only one way to find out.” 

 

Dean fell to spinning the tubing cutter around and around, tightening the knob a half turn every revolution until the paint and pipe finally gave way, to wipe up the small flood with the ruined towel and glare at the cut end of the pipe. The two of them stared in dismay at the drops of water slowly beading at the tip of the pipe to drop off onto the floor in slow but regular intervals.

 

“Fuck.”

 

“My tits are no longer calm, Dean.”

 

Dean snorted, grinning up at Castiel. 

 

“Good thing I was paying attention while Matías was yapping my ear off. I’m going to clean this paint off, then we’ll work our way back to this point and do this bit last. I’ll need ‘una rebanada de pan blanco’ - uh, a slice of white bread, please.”

 

“I have whole wheat, will that work?”  

 

“It can’t have seeds or, like, extra fiber, I wouldn’t think.”

 

“It’s a very fine grained whole wheat, Dean.” 

 

Castiel’s eyes were sparkling, and he made no indication that he had any intention of asking for further clarification, so Dean smirked and didn’t offer any.

 

“Should work, then.”  

 

Dean got the regular tubing cutter out instead of the minicutter to swing around the end of the pipe closest to the tub, and that went a zillion times faster. The paint was much less thick here and he went to work with the strip of abrasive mesh while Castiel disappeared downstairs, allegedly to get bread.

 

Dean had the new pipes measured and cut and the entire assembly ready to solder and Cas still wasn’t back, the house kind of smelling like something good now.

 

When Castiel stepped into the bathroom he had two plates - one with a plain slice of whole wheat bread on it, and one with two slices of buttered toast. Castiel set the plain bread plate on the back of the toilet and then leaned against the sink without a word, crunching buttery toast between his teeth and calmly observing Dean’s envy.

 

“Aww,  _ man _ , now I want toast,” Dean sighed, watching Castiel methodically chew and swallow before speaking.

 

“Your hands are dirty, and the water to the sink is turned off.”

 

Dean pouted, and Castiel watched him evenly.

 

“I’ll share.  _ If _ I can feed it to you.”

 

Dean nodded eagerly, stepping forward but Castiel’s eyebrow stopped him dead in his tracks and he gulped, a frisson of arousal coursing through him, unexpected and completely incongruous to his current activity.

 

He stared at Castiel with wide eyes as Castiel watched him, waiting, his eyes finally flicking impatiently to the floor and back to Dean’s face before Dean understood and fell to his knees, flushing furiously.

 

Castiel nodded his silent approval, and he offered Dean toast, holding it out so Dean had to lean forward to reach it, pressing it against Dean’s bottom lip with more force than necessary as Dean took a bite, watching him chew and swallow, Castiel’s lips parting with interest as he watched the flush rising on Dean’s cheeks.

 

Castiel pushed the toast between Dean’s lips again, a little harder this time, and Dean moaned as he took a bite, his lips shiny with butter, his eyes glazed and his pupils flaring even as Castiel stared into them.

 

“More toast, Dean? Or would you prefer something... else?” Castiel’s long fingers were caressing his zipper now, the toast dropped on the plate, his erection obvious and straining against the seam of his jeans. Dean’s lips parted as he moaned, gulping in embarrassment rapidly overtaken by raw desire as Castiel whipped around to set his plate next to the other one on the back of the toilet, sliding his zipper down as he turned back to Dean to shove his cock between Dean’s eager lips.

 

“If I didn’t like it so much when you blush, I would tell you not to be embarrassed,” Castiel growled, gasping as he pulled most of the way out to rock his cock over the end of Dean’s tongue, his eyelids languidly falling to half-lidded as he watched Dean’s gorgeous lips stretch  _ so  _ wide to contain him. 

 

Dean managed to look confused despite his  _ extremely  _ distracting circumstances, and Castiel pulled all the way out, gripping his cock in his hand, to get Dean’s full attention, waiting until Dean was looking him in the eye to speak.

 

“When I arouse you, you seem embarrassed by your reaction to me.” 

 

Castiel rushed to soothe as Dean started to look crestfallen.

 

“It’s alright, I am not disappointed or upset with you Dean, quite the contrary, I find you  _ exquisite _ . Let me see if I can explain myself.”  

 

Dean looked bashfully pleased and Castiel stared at him in silence for a long moment, a soft smile curving his lips, before continuing.

 

“Dean, I  _ like _ when you are aroused and I  _ like _ how I feel when you let me touch you. I  _ like _ when you think you’re hurting me - “ Castiel grinned at Dean’s look of surprise, adding, “I hate to tip my hand but everything you did to me last night felt  _ really _ good, Dean, you’ll have to step up your game if you want it to hurt  - but that’s just it; I like _ everything you’ve ever done to me _ ."

 

"The moment you coaxed that first orgasm from my obstinate body - the first orgasm I’ve  _ ever _ experienced at another’s touch - you ignited a fire in me; a simmering tension in my blood that belongs to you and you alone. I crave your touch  _ all the time now, _ Dean, no matter what else I’m thinking about or doing there’s a fire underneath, embers, banked and waiting for you.”

 

“But...  _ when you let me take control _ …” 

 

Castiel’s breath caught, and Dean’s eyes widened as he held his own breath in response, watching Castiel’s face with rapt attention, as Castiel fought to find the words.

 

“I find it  _ intensely  _ arousing when you surrender your will to me, Dean, but it’s not the control I find arousing; it’s your  _ reaction _ that inflames me. You’ve awoken a hunger in me… something I cannot adequately articulate... but I think you have your own need. The corollary to mine, if you will.”  

 

Castiel reached out, his free hand reverently caressing Dean’s jaw, stilling to gently hold his face, and Dean leaned into the touch, sighing.

 

“I told you I understood the nature of the trust, Dean, but I was too ashamed to admit to you yesterday that I also realized from our brief time together what a  _ disappointment _ I must have been all those years ago."

 

Castiel nodded as Dean's eyes widened in surprise.

 

"In every way I now see by comparison that I was sorely lacking, you are  _ extraordinary,  _ Dean. The gift of your trust is an indescribable honor, and I can only do my paltry best to be worthy of you. I - I think what I’m floundering to express is that you have  _ absolutely nothing _ to be ashamed of, and I grant you my permission, should it be necessary or helpful, to find giving yourself to  _ that  _ Castiel arousing  _ without _ being embarrassing.”

 

They stared at each other for a long moment, Dean gaping up at Castiel, eyes wide, lips parted, his chest heaving now with each panting breath, while Castiel’s eyes searched Dean’s face, his head tilting pensively as something occurred to him.

 

“Unless… Dean, do you  _ like  _ the embarrassment?”  

 

Dean startled guiltily, his cheeks instantly on fire, his eyelids fluttering tightly closed with the shame of being discovered. Castiel’s intake of breath hissed past his teeth, a wave of tension rippling over him as he tightened his grip on his cock and groaned, his face dangerous now, filled with a singular purpose.

 

“I see. In that case, Dean, you may continue to feel as embarrassed as you like.” 

 

Castiel’s eyes swept over Dean appreciatively for a long moment, and he sucked in a long, slow breath, collecting himself, before speaking again.

 

“ _ Look at me. _ ”  

 

Dean’s eyes flew open at Castiel’s sharp command, his entire body quivering; a tuning fork shivering at Castiel’s frequency, waiting for the strike.

 

“You look good on your knees,” Castiel growled, “I find the visual intensely arousing.”  

 

He watched approvingly as Dean shuddered, Castiel’s hand switching to slowly stroking instead of just gripping his cock. 

 

“I could come just from the way you’re looking at me, Dean,” Castiel murmured. “In fact, I think I might do just that - “

 

Castiel was expecting the wail, even though Dean obviously wasn’t, and his eyebrow lifted in challenge. 

 

“Change my mind,” he suggested calmly, his hand coming to a stop as Dean gaped at him incredulously. They stared at each other for several seconds, Castiel’s face stern, until Dean found his words, his voice husky and cracking.

 

“ _ Please, _ Castiel…”

 

“Yes, Dean? Please what?”  

 

Castiel’s lips curved into an ever-so-innocent smile, his hand resuming its former motion, his body no closer to Dean than before, perhaps even a little further away than just seconds ago. Dean stared at Castiel, speechless, as Castiel watched his face expectantly.

 

“Perhaps I can help you, Dean,” Castiel offered in a dangerously kindly tone, and Dean just gaped, a trophy buck, frozen in Castiel’s headlights. 

 

“Let me tell you what I see, Dean.” 

 

Castiel’s hand motion was slow, his cock  _ had  _ to be dry or sticky by now, Dean’s brain unhelpfully supplied, as he struggled valiantly to keep his eyes firmly fixed on Castiel’s face.

 

“The most attractive man I’ve ever laid eyes on in my  _ life _ is wantonly kneeling for me, which is already so arousing it defies description,” Castiel began, his eyes fixed on Dean’s face, his body rocking on the balls of his feet just a little, fucking up into his hand as he narrated, his voice soft and dreamy.

 

“His knees are wet, Dean, and I bet the end of his cock is, too, because he  _ likes  _ how badly I want to fuck him, don’t you, Dean?”

 

Dean’s eyes were twin moons, and he gulped as he nodded, completely speechless.

 

“He’s filthy from working with his hands, which I find  _ intensely  _ erotic, Dean, I don’t know why, I just do. He’s trying to watch my face instead of what I’m doing with my hand, Dean, which is arguably  _ far  _ more interesting, just because I told him to, and he  _ likes  _ pleasing me, Dean. I don’t know why, he just does.”

 

Dean nodded helplessly, his panting breath almost hyperventilating now as he fought not to look down at Castiel’s hand.

 

“Which I find  _ so singularly arousing  _ it’s all I think about when I masturbate, now, Dean. But I can see his body shuddering in time with the stroke of my hand while I touch myself, Dean, which I will confess that I am doing because I’m _ just not convinced _ he wants my cock badly enough to give it to him.” 

 

Castiel groaned softly, his eyes glazing as his hand increased its speed and Dean cried out at last, his voice breaking, “ _ Please Castiel _ ,  _ I do! I do! I want it so bad, PLEASE!” _

 

“ _ Say it _ , then, Dean,” Castiel rasped, his mouth falling open as his breath came rapid and shallow. He sounded dangerously past his tipping point and Dean’s panic he was going to miss it finally overcame his speech block and the words tumbled out, a rising note of desperation to his voice as Castiel reached for the hand towel on the wall rack and lifted it to catch his imminent release.

 

“ _ I want your cock, Castiel. Please please I want your cock so bad PLEASE don’t come in your hand PLEASE let me taste it  - Castiel pleaaaase - “  _

 

Dean ended on a wail as Castiel groaned, spilling into the towel, watching Dean’s face intently as he came. Dean was helpless not to watch, panting, his eyes filling with tears he didn’t even think to try to stop.

 

Castiel dropped the hand towel, stepping forward at last to cradle Dean’s face in his hands, petting him gently as his lips trembled and his eyes spilled over.

 

“ _ Shhh _ , it’s okay, Dean, I believe you now.”

 

“ _ But - but - _ ”

 

“Yes, well, you were a little late on changing my mind, Dean, and I’m afraid I require  _ prompt  _ obedience, but I’m sure you’ll remember for next time.”

 

Dean looked so crestfallen Castiel relented, one thumb slowly caressing Dean’s bottom lip.

 

“I am not a cruel man by nature, and I have no wish to make you suffer needlessly, Dean. Is there something you want, something that you can admit to me right now, without hesitation or delay?”

 

Dean’s face registered confusion, but he gazed up at Castiel’s face obediently and moaned without even a moment’s hesitation, “ _ Your cock, Castiel. I want your cock. _ ” 

 

“I’d like to hear you call me  _ Sir _ , if I may, Dean.”

 

“ _ Yes, Sir. I wanted your cock, Sir.” _

 

Castiel groaned softly as Dean spoke, his breath ending in a soft sigh.

 

“Wanted? You don’t still want me?” 

 

Castiel’s voice was both stern and a little strained, and Dean’s eyes flashed incredulously to his cock, thick and full again in Castiel’s fist -  _ Holy Shit -  _ before meeting Castiel’s gaze again, Dean’s eyes wide in astonishment.

 

“ _ Oh yes please, god, Castiel - I’m sorry I mean Sir, *please* Sir, I want your cock PLEASE S- “  _ but Castiel was  _ finally  _ pushing his cock between Dean’s lips again and Dean moaned in desperate arousal, rocking forward, his eyelashes fluttering as Castiel took his pleasure, cradling Dean’s face gently in his hands. 

 

Castiel’s thrusts were slow and sensual, watching Dean’s face, his eyes dropping to watch Dean’s dirty hands clench and unclench on his thighs, then traveling back to his mouth, those  _ absolutely gorgeous lips  _ stretched wide around his cock the visual that finally pulled him, sighing, back over that edge. 

 

Dean didn’t want it to end and he moaned in disappointment as Castiel pulled out and tucked his dick away, zipping his jeans in one swift motion and turning away to reach for something behind him in another; dropping to his knees on the tile to shove his tongue into Dean’s mouth. 

 

Dean keened with relief and kissed back desperately as Castiel reached for Dean’s belt with one hand, deftly unbuckling and unzipping him to grip his straining cock in the other hand, slick with something and Dean was lost, almost sobbing into Castiel’s mouth as Castiel kissed him and his magical hand was twisting and pulling and his other hand was reaching down to cradle Dean’s balls and press up behind them and Dean was screaming around Castiel’s tongue, tipping forward to collapse into Castiel’s waiting embrace.

 

Castiel held him through his wave, pulling up on tongue as Dean lost the wherewithal to kiss back, just licking the inside of his slack mouth, sharing his breath and slowly stripping his cock until Dean moaned from overstimulation, then Castiel stilled his hand to grip firmly, lifting his head away from tasting Dean’s lips to stare at Dean’s face, his gaze so affectionate Dean’s eyes filled with tears again to see it.

 

“Are you alright, Dean?” Castiel asked gently, and Dean sniffed and nodded.

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

Castiel groaned softly and shook his head gently in the negative. 

 

“I need you to call me Cas, now, Dean, or I’ll need to fuck you again and we will  _ never  _ finish this bathroom before Sam shows up to collect you.”

 

“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry Sir.”

 

Dean’s slowly spreading smirk was a thing of beauty, and Castiel groaned again, mock scowling and tightening his grip around Dean’s softening cock until Dean squeaked, then laughing and letting go to wipe his hand on a clean corner of the previously discarded towel.

 

“I mean it though, Dean, I’m gladdened you enjoy your power over me, but we need to get this done and I simply cannot concentrate with an erection.”

 

Dean gaped at Castiel in disbelief.

 

Castiel shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. 

 

“What? I’m not  _ trying  _ to be insatiable, Dean, but I have a hair trigger and I’m afraid I can’t seem to control my response to you - “

 

“Not that, although I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed.”

 

“What, then?”

 

“What do you mean  _ my _ power over  _ you _ ?”

 

Castiel stared at Dean for a long moment, his eyes sparkling with emotion, before answering, and when he spoke his voice was soft and terribly grave.

 

“ _ Dean Winchester, I belong to you now _ . I  _ know  _ it’s too soon, I  _ know  _ I’m rushing headlong into something I will  _ never _ recover from if…” 

 

Castiel nodded apologetically, wincing at Dean’s pained grimace before continuing softly, his expression achingly tender.

 

“Dean, I have known for some time that you had laid claim to my heart, but I confess I have been at loose ends to discover that you have also laid claim to my body. 

 

“My own touch can no longer sate me, except as a poor substitute while I think of yours.

 

“I grieve when we are parted, and I count the minutes until I can feel you above me or below me - or beside me - again, whichever you should prefer.

 

“Anything you want from me is yours for the taking; you have only to make your will known to me and I will give it.

“There is no control for me unless you grant it. 

 

“There is no pleasure for me unless you vouchsafe it. 

 

“There is no satisfaction for me unless you choose to slake my thirst. 

 

“There is no joy for me unless I am near you. 

 

“There is no  _ peace  _ for me unless I am in your arms.” 

 

Castiel’s voice dropped to a whisper so quiet Dean could barely make out his last sentence.

 

“ _ If you think I am the one with the power here, you are sorely mistaken. _ ”

 

Castiel fell silent, his face anguished, his eyes soft pools of shimmering blue in the afternoon sun streaming in the window, and Dean’s mouth, open in shock, slowly slipped closed as he sucked in a long, quavering breath.

 

“Cas, I’m not a poet like you -”  

 

Castiel laughed bitterly, but Dean shook his head slowly, his expression serious.  

 

“I mean it, Cas, you say things that make me want to cry - in a good way - and I don’t know how to - I can’t give you that, Cas. But… you’re all I think about. After the locker room, when I was in the shower for hours, I was pretending the water was your arms around me. I just want to  _ be _ with you, and it hurts when I’m not.” 

 

Castiel’s eyes met Dean’s in agonized apology and Dean couldn’t stop himself, filthy hands or not, from reaching out to grasp Castiel’s nearest hand in both of his, clutching tightly as he continued.

 

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s not your fault; I made you do it. We figured that out already, Cas, you’re right, you can’t help yourself around me. When I want something, you need to give it to me. 

 

“But it’s the same for me, anything you want me to do, I just want - I  _ need - _ to give it to you. I can’t help myself around you either, and I figure that must make us even, right?”

 

Castiel still looked uncertain and Dean squeezed his hand, tightly clasped in both of his.

 

“I need you just as bad as you need me, Cas, okay? This  _ isn’t _ too soon; you’ve been waiting for me  _ long enough. _ ” 

 

Dean wasn’t expecting Castiel’s startled sob, but he caught him anyway, arms reaching to wrap around Castiel’s shoulders, to cradle him to his chest as Castiel struggled to breathe, his arms limp at his sides. Dean kissed his hair and rocked him and smiled at him when Castiel finally turned his face up, streaked with tears.

 

“ _ I love you, Dean, _ ” Castiel whispered, and Dean moaned and kissed his answer, until Castiel was panting and breathless.

 

“Dean we  _ have  _ to finish this shower. I got butter on our dicks.”

 

Dean laughed out loud, beaming down at Castiel, now cradled in his lap. 

 

“I noticed. Don’t worry, I think I got most of it off you. I kinda want to just shower downstairs and hold you instead,” Dean teased, and Castiel groaned in frustration.

 

“Come  _ on,  _ Dean, I was looking forward to showering  _ with  _ you and that pipe is just dripping on the floor...”

 

Dean grinned at him, waggling his eyebrows, and Castiel snorted.

 

“Let’s finish this, then we’ll take that shower together, then you can fuck me, okay? You can try to hurt me again, if we have time before Sam shows up, alright?”

 

Dean laughed, sitting up to get himself situated, zip up his jeans and buckle his belt.

 

“I was just teasing Cas, I would never leave you hanging. Let’s get this zipped up, and then I’ll hurt you as much as you want. I don’t need it to actually hurt on my account, Cas, I just wanna make you feel good. Whatever you want, I’ll do.”

 

Castiel beamed at Dean, accepting a hand up he didn’t need to flow gracefully to his feet.

 

“What’s the  _ bread  _ for, Dean?”

 

Dean’s laughter was pure joy, lilting and beautiful, and when he came up for air, his smile was absolutely radiant.

 

“You’ll see.”

 

“AAAUGH!”

  
  
  


***

  
  


“ _ Sam buy me tinted clearasil on ur way & what does vouchsafe mean?” _

 

_ “why? u hate that stuff & it means 2 allow or permit, as by favor or graciousness. im not ur dictionary” _

 

_ “Just do it pls, & hello yes u r :-D” _

 

_ “fine jerk :P” _

 

_ “thx bitch :)” _

  
  
  


***

  
  


Dean looked up from breading chicken cutlets as Baby roared down the street, his smile fond as he reflexively stepped back so Cas could get past him to wash his hands, stepped up behind him to slot their bodies together, salmonella hands held well clear, to thrust his hips playfully against Castiel’s ass, stepped back to mind his business at Castiel’s snort, Castiel brushing past him with a huge smile - and without a millimeter to spare - to open the front door for Sam. 

 

Sam appeared breathlessly in the doorframe, a pharmacy bag in hand, and stopped dead, sniffing.

 

“Ooohhh god what smells gooood - Dean what happened to your FACE?”

 

Castiel looked like he wanted the floor to crack open and swallow him whole as Sam’s glance left Dean’s face to stare speculatively at Castiel, his nose wrinkling in distaste, and Dean laughed, shaking his head.

 

“It was an accident - “

 

“-  _ Of course it was _ ,” Sam interjected, “Cas, I didn’t for a second think you did that on purpose, okay? Cas!”

 

Castiel’s face, crimson now, managed to look wanly grateful as he whispered, “But you looked right at me Sam, the - the look of disgust - “

 

Sam grinned cheerfully, kicking off his shoes and turning to drop the plastic bag on the table with a rustle and a thunk.

 

“I started picturing ways that could have happened, that’s all, Cas.”

 

“Ohhh,” Castiel breathed, wincing slightly despite his face lighting up with relief, and then just pure alarm as Dean approached him, smirking.

 

“Here, Sam, I’ll reenact exactly what position - “   
  


“You absolutely will  _ NOT! _ ”

 

“CHILDREN!”

 

“Yes?” Dean asked meekly, stepping away from Castiel’s horrified person to reach into the bag and pull out the tube of tinted Clearasil to wave at Castiel triumphantly. 

 

“See? All better, Cas.”

 

Castiel reached for the tube, read the label, and looked infinitely relieved as Sam practically stamped his foot to get their attention again.

 

“WHAT. SMELLS. GOOD?”

 

Dean laughed, waving a hand at the oven.  

 

“Oh, that. Cas made an apple crisp.”

 

“ _ Cas _ did?” 

 

“Yup. I was busy making bacon for the potato skins.”

 

“We are  _ having  _ a salad,” Castiel protested mildly, and Dean grinned at him in response, dropping his first round of chicken fingers into hot oil.

 

Sam gaped at Castiel and Dean in turn, his tongue practically cartoon salivating out of his head.

 

“Do I dare ask what we’re celebrating?”

 

Dean snorted while Castiel crossed to the fridge to pull out three dark bottles and deliver them to the kitchen table.

“Dean’s successful installation of a new on-demand water heater in the master bath,” Castiel declared, beaming proudly at Dean as Dean handed him his keyring opener. Castiel snapped the lids off three bottles in turn, nodded to the Winchesters, and they lifted their bottles in a three-way cheers before taking their respective pulls and variously setting them down.

 

“Was the old one broken, or?”

 

“About seven minutes of hot, give or take,” Dean explained, “and that wasn’t cutting it for two showers. Barely decent for one, to be honest, sorry, Cas.” 

 

“No, I completely agree, Dean, I guess I just learned to live with it over the years. Showering without that looming dread this afternoon was an absolutely luxurious decadence I couldn’t even remember feeling in a decade except maybe at the gym, but I don’t really linger there for other reasons…” He trailed off uncomfortably, but Sam wasn’t paying attention, looking in surprise to Dean.

 

“ _ Oh geez,  _ that sounds like it sucked. I guess I kind of assumed you guys were showering  _ together _ .” Sam grinned and set his beer down on the table. “Too malty for me, sorry Cas.”

 

“We are  _ now,”  _ Dean agreed smugly, grinning at Cas over the golden brown chicken strips dripping hot oil from his deep fryer basket while Castiel tilted his head from Sam to the fridge and back again from where he was currently occupied slicing tomatoes, arranging slices in rings over three plates of organic arugula.

 

“I have El Sol in the refrigerator, Sam. Dean, we should do another in the downstairs bath at some point, in case Sam ever wants to shower while we’re… upstairs.” 

 

Castiel’s sudden flush was utterly charming, his gaze falling to study the cucumber he was slicing with great concentration, and Dean silently admired him while smoothly stepping to the rescue.

 

“Sam, go check out the new couch, wouldja? How have you not noticed yet?”

 

Sam lifted his face from the inside of the fridge, beer in hand.  

 

“Wait, what?” 

 

He grabbed Dean’s keyring from the table without so much as glancing at either of them to disappear into the living room, and Dean winked in response to Castiel’s flashed look of gratitude as the two of them dropped their current tasks immediately to cross the kitchen and lean on opposite sides of the living room archway, watching Sam gravitate to the chaise longue end of the gorgeous new couch, hesitate, look up at them.

 

“Is it… safe?”

 

“Oh for crying out loud, Sam!” Dean scolded, and Sam grinned as he flopped onto his end, bouncing up and down and making pleased noises until Dean continued, smirking wickedly, “We didn’t use your end!”

 

Sam bolted off the couch so fast you’d think the red was actual flames, glaring at Dean in disgust, until his eyes slid past Dean’s delighted smirk to take in Castiel’s matching horror, and then his expression slid into such pleased ‘ _ you’re gonna get it _ ’ that Dean winced and shrank into himself, his smirk vanishing as he turned in slow motion to face Castiel’s wrath.

 

“ _ Dean. _ ” Castiel’s voice was quiet, but the fury underneath was unmistakable, and Sam covered his smile by turning away as Dean hung his head.

 

“I  _ forbid _ you from using private details of our intimacy to horrify your brother. It demeans those moments - which are  _ sacred  _ to me, Dean, and I had hoped meant more to you than fodder for vulgar wisecracks about bodily fluids on upholstery - and besides that it makes me feel  _ cheap  _ and  _ dirty  _ and - and  _ used _ . Do I make myself clear?” 

 

Castiel didn’t wait for Dean’s reply, he couldn’t even look at him, his eyes filling with sudden tears as he turned to Sam and muttered, “We put a sheet down, Sam, and we didn’t touch your end - I’m sorry - please excuse me - “ 

 

Castiel spun on his heel and  _ fled _ upstairs, Dean’s entire body flinching as his bedroom door slammed shut. Two brothers turned to stare at each other in complete horror, Sam’s face just as agonized as Dean’s, his previous playful horror about the couch and delight Dean was in trouble completely forgotten in the face of Castiel’s reaction.

 

“ _ What do I do? _ ” Dean’s eyes were wide in terror, his whisper a rising panic.

 

“ _ You go after him, and you grovel like your life fucking well depends on it!”  _ Sam whispered back, pointing imperiously up the stairwell. “ _ GO! I’ll turn off the oven. _ ”

 

“ _ And the fryer, _ ” Dean hissed over his shoulder, cringing his way up the stairs, and Sam nodded, heading into the kitchen.

 

When Dean knocked hesitantly on Castiel’s bedroom door there was no answer. He tried the doorknob tentatively, but it was locked, and he leaned his forehead despondently against the door, landing against it with the slightest of thunks.

 

“Cas?” he called gently through the door, “I’m really sorry.”

 

There was no answer, and Dean tried really hard not to strain to hear anything; he kept talking instead. 

 

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, Cas, I’m really sorry. I just - I have a dumb sense of humor, Cas, and Sam just looked so grossed out when the couch went missing last Sunday and I just - I just thought it was funny so I guess I was riffing on that.”

 

Dean’s voice fell as he continued, small and ashamed. 

 

“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, Cas. Being with you... Those times  _ are  _ sacred, they mean  _ everything  _ to me and I never meant to make you feel shitty to tease my brother. I’m really sorry.“ 

 

There was nothing but silence on the other side of the door for several eons, and Dean’s voice cracked as he asked, finally, “Do you want me - do you want us to go?”

 

Dean was met with only stony silence. He was just turning to go, eyes brimming with tears, when Castiel answered from the other side of the door.

 

“Why does Sam think the other couch was gone?”

 

Dean turned back to the closed door, his head hanging in shame.  

 

“He - he said he  _ didn’t want to know,  _ so I - uh - I didn’t tell him.”

 

“ _ I see. _ ” Castiel’s tone was ice cold, and Dean flinched away from the door where he was leaning, eyes wide.

 

“ _ I’m sorry, Cas -  _ “

 

“Go tell Sam,  _ right now _ , why the couch was missing,” Castiel spat through the door. “Do not speak to me again until he understands it is  _ not  _ for  _ any reason _ having to do with _ bodily fluids _ .” 

 

Dean had never heard Castiel so angry, and he fell over himself to race downstairs, surprising Sam, bent over his laptop, on his end of the new couch.

 

Sam’s forehead furrowed in empathy as he looked up. 

 

“How’s it going up there?”

 

Dean’s face gave answer enough and Sam’s face fell as he studied Dean’s agonized expression.

 

“Um, I have to tell you - uh - “ Dean winced and the words tumbled out, his face utterly wretched as he came clean. 

 

“Okay so last week when the couch was missing and I let you think whatever you wanted - “  Sam’s nose wrinkled and Dean finished all in a rush, “Yeah so Cas is ready to kill me because I let you think that, uh last weekend he made me help him carry his couch out to the curb and wouldn’t tell me why until we got it out there and then he said it was because he failed me on that couch and I hated it now so he was going to get a new couch so I wouldn’t have to look at it ever again and - and - he’d kiss me on the new one...“  

 

Dean trailed off, his face falling even further at the accusation on Sam’s.

 

“That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard, Dean - ”

 

“ _ Right? _ I thought so too - “

 

“And you let me think it was because you got jizz on it.”

 

_ “Ohhhh. Fuck. _ ”

 

“You  _ think?  _ You’re an _ asshole _ , Dean. Way to ruin a grand gesture.”

 

“I mean, just for you, I was just kidding - “

 

“Sure. Just for me - basically his new brother-in-law and one of like three people that know you’re together - and for Cas, the dude you’re  _ in love with _ , that you used as a cheap dick joke.”

 

There was a gasp at the top of the stairs and two brothers turned in unison to look up at Castiel, hands over his mouth, eyes wide. He looked ashamed to be caught eavesdropping, but Dean rushed to the foot of the stairs, staring entreatingly up at Castiel’s face in the dim light. 

 

Castiel’s eyes were rimmed in red but the anger was gone from his face as he slowly descended the steps to the living room to stare in the general vicinity of Dean’s chin. His voice was no more than a whisper when he spoke, his hands still clasped just below his mouth, arms tight to his body in such a defensive posture that Dean’s entire body ached with sorrow.

 

“Did you tell Sam that _ …  _  that you’re  _ in love _ with me?”

 

Dean’s hands were trembling as he reached out to catch both of Castiel’s in his. Castiel didn’t resist the touch, his eyes searching Dean’s face now, as Dean shook his head gently, his eyes very bright.

 

“He told  _ me _ . I didn’t know, Cas. Sam had to tell me what I was feeling.”

 

“When?” 

 

Castiel’s eyes were haunted, his voice small, and Dean rubbed the back of Cas’s clenched fists soothingly with both his thumbs.

 

“February fifteenth,” Dean answered immediately, “After the game night, on Sam and my drive home. I told you in the kitchen, when I was trying to tell you how I - how I, uh, how I feel about you - after the night we - “ he paused, conscious of Sam frozen on the couch, and continued hesitantly, “The night we, uh, got together.” 

 

Dean’s eyes begged Castiel, ‘Was that okay?’, and Castiel nodded slowly, a silence stretching between them for what felt like an eternity.

 

“I had a lot of new information to process that day,” Castiel answered at last, his voice uncertain, “I’m sorry if I forgot anything else you told me.” 

 

Dean’s mouth opened to soothe but he hesitated as Castiel met his eyes briefly and then glanced at Sam, too, to include him in the conversation.

 

“I’m sorry I eavesdropped. I meant to come down to let you know to go ahead and eat dinner without me, and to bid you goodnight with my apologies, but - “

 

“ _ Oh Sweetheart, _ ” Dean whispered, his voice breaking, as Sam slipped into the kitchen and out the front door, shutting it gently behind him. Dean pressed Castiel’s unresisting hands to his lips and  _ begged _ his forgiveness. “ _ I’m such an asshole, Cas, I’m so sorry. _ ”

 

“ _ But,”  _ Castiel continued pointedly, “what I rudely overheard has rallied my spirit, if not my stomach. May I sit with you for dinner, even though I don’t think I can eat?”

 

“Cas, you can do  _ whatever you want,  _ whenever you want _. Please  _ forgive me, I am  _ so. Sorry.” _

 

Castiel nodded slowly. “I might have overreacted...“

 

“No way.” Dean shook his head solemnly. “Sam is way better at this stuff than I am, Cas, and if he says I fucked up, I fucked up  _ bad _ . But even if he didn’t come down on your side on this, I  _ never  _ want to make you feel - ” Dean winced, whispered “ _ cheap, or dirty, or used. _ ” 

 

Castiel blew out a heavy breath and sucked in another that shook a little, and Dean let go of Castiel’s hands, tentatively held his arms out. Castiel moved reluctantly closer, allowed the hug without hugging back, his back stiff. Dean rubbed Castiel’s back gently, bent his lips to Castiel’s ear.

 

“ _ I am though. Head over heels, Cas.” _

 

Dean’s terror subsided at last as Castiel sighed and leaned into the embrace, his head finding Dean’s shoulder to lean against it, his chest deflating as he blew out a giant breath.

 

_ “ _ I won’t tell Sam anything again,” Dean promised, and Castiel lifted his head to look Dean in the eye.

 

“You can tell Sam whatever you like, Dean, as long as I’m not there to hear it. If you need to talk to your brother about what happens between us I won’t interfere.”

 

“But -  _ “ _

 

“I draw the line at describing sex acts purely for purposes of humor or to cause disgust. Do you understand the distinction?”

 

“Okay now that you put it like that I absolutely do, Cas. I’m really sorry. Not that I have any defense to mount here, but just to put it in perspective I’ve been teasing Sam with threats of details since he was, like, twelve. I’d be like ‘and there’s this  _ thing  _ she can do with her  _ tongue,  _ Sam, _ ’  _ and he always would make a face and hit me, so the habit kind of predates, uh, you - sorry Cas - “ 

 

Dean looked sheepish, but Castiel’s face was a break in heavy clouds, light dawning by slow degrees, and Dean stared at him for several seconds before asking, “What?”

 

“It’s not because it’s gay?”

 

“Because what’s gay? What are you talking about?”

 

“The sex. We are having gay sex.”

 

“Yeah I get that,” Dean smirked. “I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed all the time, Cas, but I _did notice_ the _ridiculously_ _hot sex_ we were having was gay. So?”

 

Castiel snorted, his face spreading in a slow grin even as he pressed on urgently, “I meant, you weren’t trying to disgust Sam by details of  _ gay  _ sex?”

 

“What?  _ No,  _ Cas!” Dean’s mouth fell open in horror as he stared at Castiel’s puzzled face, dropping the hug to grasp Castiel by both shoulders to brace himself, almost losing his balance anyway with his dismay as Castiel’s arms came up reflexively to steady him. 

 

“Cas _how could you think that -_ Cas the part that grosses Sam out is that it’s about _me, his brother._ He never, ever wants to hear about what I do with my dick - which is why it’s so much fun to tease him - _Oh god, Cas, no wonder - Cas_ _I love you! I don’t care that we’re - that - that *I’m* gay!”_

 

They stared at each other in astonishment, Dean panting with the effort of getting the words out and Castiel’s eyes suddenly sparkling with tears. When Castiel reached for him Dean almost sobbed and when Castiel pressed his lips to Dean’s mouth Dean  _ did _ sob, desperately kissing back until he couldn’t anymore from emotion, pulling away to wipe his face on his sleeve.

 

“ _ I love you so much, Dean, _ ” Castiel whispered, “I’m  _ so sorry _ I thought you would say such a terrible thing, I just thought - “

 

“ _ I was so scared Cas -  _ “ Dean’s face was streaked with tears but he wiped them away again and met Castiel’s eyes, the terror still there in the tremor in Dean’s voice.

 

“Scared? That I would hurt you? Dean I would  _ never  _ raise a hand in anger, how could you even  _ think _ \- “

 

“No, of course not that.” Dean’s eyes slid shut as he took a deep breath and whispered his worst fear out loud, his voice shaking. “That you were gonna, um, break up with me.”

 

“ _ Never! _ ” Castiel’s voice was so fierce Dean’s eyes flew open to meet his gaze, Castiel’s eyes wide in dismay. “Dean, I am  _ yours. I promised. _ No argument will ever cost you my devotion. 

 

“There will never be anyone else for me.”

 

Dean’s face fell, and Castiel studied him carefully, his brow furrowed in concentration, as Dean searched for words. 

 

“Cas, I don’t - I want to treat you  _ right,  _ I don’t want you to tell me no matter what I do to you you’re stuck with me because of - because you’re different - that makes me feel like a  _ complete asshole _ and - “

 

“You mistake my meaning, Dean. I  _ meant,  _ the way I feel about you means so much to me I will never let anyone else touch me ever again, lest I sully these perfect memories. I will remember only you, only the times we shared, and I will treasure them as long as I live. Come what may.”

 

“Cas - “ Dean’s face was utterly wrecked, and he struggled to speak. “I’m not going to  _ leave _ you, okay? If we fight we’ll work it out, no matter what. I’m not gonna be a - a  _ memory _ , okay?”

 

“Okay.” Castiel’s smile was soft and fond, and if he still didn’t believe Dean, he covered it well. “Shall we let Sam back inside?”

 

Dean nodded slowly. “Cas, I think we should tell him what you thought we meant.”

 

“I think so too. He has a right to know why I reacted so badly - “

 

“And I think he should get to reassure you himself,” Dean agreed, squeezing Castiel’s hand and taking a deep breath before crossing the kitchen.

 

Dean found Sam listening to his own cassette in Baby, he could hear a high sustained note before Sam saw him coming and popped the cassette guiltily out. Dean knocked on the window and Sam rolled it down a couple inches, his face worried.

 

“What did I tell you about polluting my Baby?”

 

“Yeah, yeah. How’d it go?”

 

“You can come in now, there’s something we need to tell you.”

 

Sam winced, climbing out of Baby to step onto the asphalt in his sock feet and relocking her with the keys he’d swiped off the kitchen table earlier.

 

“That bad?”

 

“No, no, we sorted it out but we need to include you in the conversation for part of it.” 

 

“Yikes.” 

 

Dean grinned at Sam and Sam grinned back and they stepped into the kitchen to find Castiel sitting at the kitchen table with a dark bottle tilted back, but he set it down as they approached and waved them to sit. They sat.

 

Castiel looked to Dean and Dean turned to Sam and Sam looked terribly apprehensive in kind of a slow rolling pantomime that would have been funny in another situation. 

 

Dean blew out a breath and dove right in. “So, Cas thought I was trying to gross you out by describing sex stuff - “

 

“You  _ were -” _

 

“- at his  _ expense,  _ because he thought the part that grossed you out was that it was gay.”

 

“Ohhhhhh  _ Shit. _ ”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Sam and Dean shared glances of matching horror for a second before Sam turned to Castiel, his face just as agonized as Dean’s had been minutes before.

 

“Cas, I’m  _ so sorry.  _ I don’t care that it’s gay  _ at all,  _ I  _ promise. *Dean*  _ is what’s gross, I  _ swear. _ ”

 

Castiel nodded seriously. “So Dean explained. I’m sorry I overreacted, Sam, I was terribly hurt over a - a misunderstanding.”

 

“You didn’t overreact, Cas. Dean was still a dick _ ,  _ just, you know, not as bad a dick as you thought.” Sam grinned at Dean as Dean looked completely affronted.

 

“Thanks, Sam. The wheels on that bus are really doin’ wonders for my sciatica,” Dean deadpanned in a passable impression of Bobby, and Sam snorted.

 

“You threw yourself under the bus, Dean. I’m just parallel parking it.” He turned to Castiel again, his face earnest. “I’m really sorry that you thought I was grossed out because - look, I’m not a bigot, Cas,” Sam finished lamely. “Dean is just gross, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Castiel agreed evenly. “I’m sorry I cast aspersions on you by accident, Sam. Although I have to disagree with you about Dean; there’s this  _ thing  _ he can do with his tongue - “

 

Dean’s jaw dropped incredulously as Castiel’s face went completely wicked and Sam’s face registered utter betrayal, backpedaling out of his chair and away from the table in horrified peals of laughter, frantically covering his ears as Dean fell off his chair giggling and Castiel beamed smugly at both of them.  

 

When the laughter died down and Castiel seemed like he wasn’t going to offer any other details, Sam uncovered his ears and he and Dean both looked to Castiel for his verdict on the evening. He smiled at them in turn, shrugged, and waved a hand towards the counter.

 

“Shall we attempt to rescue dinner?”

 

“Let’s do it,” Dean enthused, leaping up to stick a baleful eye in the oven to check on the damage.

 

“Isn’t that how we got into this mess in the first place?” Sam deadpanned.

 

“Shaddap, Sam.”

 

Dean had still warm potato skins plated in moments, the fryer flipped back on to heat while Castiel brought his salads to the table and fished a selection of dressings from the fridge. They sat companionably crunching salad, Castiel making it through half of his slowly, his eyes downcast, while Sam and Dean devoured their salads and potato skins. Sam shrugged apologetically at Castiel but gladly accepted his plate of potato skins all the same, Castiel quietly sliding it Sam’s way the moment Dean turned away to check on the fryer.

 

Dean reheated his first batch of chicken fingers by dropping them in the fryer for another minute, then handed most of those to Sam at Castiel’s quiet headshake, and Dean crunched one delicately from his fingers while he waited for the next round to cook.

 

Castiel gently refused the next round as well but Dean set a couple aside on a plate on the counter anyway, splitting the remainder between himself and Sam. Castiel watched solemnly as they tried the second batch and looked at each other speculatively.

 

“The double fried ones were better, weren’t they,” Dean groused.

 

“I wasn’t gonna say, but yeah,” Sam nodded, grinning.

 

“Duly noted.”

 

Dean grinned at Sam, and smiled at Castiel who gamely smiled back, his face falling as Dean’s eyes returned to his plate.

 

By the time dessert was served, which Castiel did accept a small helping of to pick at with his spoon, Dean’s mood was also souring, his plate only half empty by the time Sam was enthusiastically helping himself to thirds.

 

“This is really good, Cas,” Sam offered, smiling, and Castiel lifted his eyes from his plate to smile wanly in return.

 

“Thanks, Sam. I was hoping you’d like it.” 

 

Castiel’s eyes returned to his plate, which he hadn’t actually eaten more than a bite of, and he set his spoon carefully down beside it, sighing.

 

“I do.” Sam looked to Dean, who was absently sculpting a small volcano out of his remaining apple crisp instead of eating it, his forehead furrowed in concentration.

 

“If neither of you are going to say it, I will,” Sam said calmly, and two faces turned to look at him in confusion.

 

“Neither of you should be alone tonight,” Sam decreed flatly. “You just had a huge argument. I don’t think either of you can handle being separated right now,  _ look _ at yourselves. You both look like someone died.”

 

Castiel and Dean looked at each other in surprise, Castiel’s eyes glazing slightly while Dean protested weakly, “But I don’t have any work clothes, and neither do you - “

 

“I have a suit delivery from José in Baby’s back seat. Borrow a shirt and tie from Cas.”

 

“But you - “

 

“I’ll live. I can wear what I have on now tomorrow. I am  _ not  _ going to be responsible for splitting you two up tonight. You should see yourselves, you look like kicked puppies.”

 

Sam grinned, leaping up to help himself to the rest of the pint of ice cream, while Castiel and Dean stared at each other, not daring to hope.

 

“I have new toothbrushes in the medicine cabinet,” Castiel whispered, “and - Sam, I can launder your clothes tonight if you want, if you can put them in the dryer once they are washed…”

 

“That’s okay, Cas,” Sam grinned, “I smell  _ great. _ ”  He sniffed an armpit and laughed, shoveling more ice cream into his mouth to continue with his mouth full, “Okay maybe the tee shirt, and the socks I went outside in, and okay my boxers if you have some other stuff to wash, hate to do a whole load for just a couple things - “

 

But Castiel was nodding without listening, his eyes fixed on Dean’s face in desperate longing, and Sam smiled to himself, nodding with satisfaction as Dean leaned forward to beg Castiel in a quavering whisper, his voice breaking, “ _ Will you - Cas, can you just hold me? _ ”

 

Castiel nodded helplessly, stood up to hold out his hand, and Dean grasped it in slow motion, stood up as if in a dream. Castiel turned to Sam, his face uncertain, but Sam waved at them to go, smiling softly at his brother and his friend.

 

“Go. I’ll clean up. I know how to use a washing machine. Guest room ready for me?”

 

Castiel nodded gratefully. Dean’s eyes were already slipping shut, his body flowing into Castiel’s space, his head seeking Castiel’s chest, his free hand wrapping around Castiel’s waist. Castiel smiled finally, a real smile as he stroked Dean’s hair and whispered, “Good night, Sam. Thank you,” no hint of a flush on his face this time as he led a pliant Dean through the living room and up the stairs.

 

Sam watched them go, shaking his head as he leaned forward to slide both of their desserts his way.

 

“Never seen two fools more in love,” he murmured to himself, chewing with great satisfaction, and then wincing at the thought of Castiel’s face earlier in the evening. 

 

_ Poor Cas, god what an awful thing to think we meant.  _

 

Sam stood up to clear the table, popping open the dishwasher to verify it was dirty and shoving their plates inside pensively. His mind flashed to the look on Castiel’s face when he had carefully enunciated, “There’s this  _ thing  _ he can do with his  _ tongue,”  _  and he spit himself a little, giggling. 

 

_ Those two deserve each other, and they want this more than anything. They’ll figure it out. _

 

Sam grinned to himself, his face terribly fond, wrapping saran wrap over the remaining apple crisp and finding a spot for it in the fridge. There was no way those chicken fingers were going to be any good the second day, he reasoned, no sense in wasting them.

 

Sam liberated another El Sol from the fridge and took that and the plate and a napkin for later into the living room with him. He pulled a textbook out of his backpack and propped it open beside his laptop on his end of the new couch, absently munching on a chicken finger, and then fished in his backpack until he found his headset to pull that on and plug it in. 

 

No sense in taking any chances.

  
  



	77. The Billiards Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know I am not the boss of you, but seriously. Maybe don't read this one in public. :-D  
> 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🎱🎆☔👀👀👀😠😨😪😣😒😐🍆🤛👂🎆🎆🎆😮😳😍💙💚🔥🎆🔥🎆🔥🎆🔥🎆🔥🎆🔥

“How are we gonna do this?” Dean sounded nervous over the line, and Castiel shrugged, even as he realized it made no sense to do so since Dean couldn’t see him.

 

“I’ve been thinking about that. I thought perhaps we could each bring an overnight bag to work tomorrow, then you can have Sam drop you off at the motel after you pick him up tomorrow night. On the way home would be the most efficient - we can order in dinner after...  later in the evening, or just each grab something separately on the way. What time does Sam get out tomorrow?”

 

Dean groaned into the receiver. 

 

“He’s got an extra lab tomorrow, doesn’t get out ‘til at  _ least  _ six thirty. Just this once though.”

 

“Alright, in that case I’ll go to the gym, and meet you there afterwards with the expectation we’ll both have already found dinner, does that work? You can get your key from Jason, and I’ll meet you at the room.”

 

“And Thursday morning?”

 

“Do you have two sets of keys for Baby?” 

 

“No, but I can get another made…” 

 

“Please do that tomorrow. Then Sam can drive to Stanford on Thursday morning with one set, lock her, text you where he parked, and we’ll go find her with the other. We can stagger leaving, arrive at work several minutes apart, and no one will be the wiser. Does that work?”

 

Dean thought about it carefully, examining the plan from every angle. It was flawless, as far as he could tell. 

 

“That sounds perfect, Cas.” Dean’s voice went nervous again. “Do you need me to bring anything? Or… uh, do anything special before…”

 

“I’ve been thinking about that a lot, too, Dean.” Castiel didn’t sound nervous, he sounded - Dean grinned to himself. Not to put too fine a point on it, but Cas sounded  _ horny. _

 

Castiel smiled back across the distance, Dean could hear him, and when he spoke Dean gulped.

 

“Yes, I want you, Dean, I can  _ feel _ you being smug about it, but you don’t know the half of it. I have been… conserving my energy for tomorrow night, for two days now, with some difficulty.”  

 

Dean’s eyes widened at the strain in Cas’s voice, and at the  _ commitment,  _ given what he’d experienced of Castiel’s sex drive in just the last couple weeks.

 

“ _ Jesus,  _ Cas, _ why?  _ You don’t have to _ \- “ _

 

“I know I don’t. It’s okay, Dean, I want to. I have something special planned, and while ordinarily I wouldn’t dream of intruding on your private life - “

 

“Cas! You  _ are  _ my private life - “   
  


“I would invite you this one time to join me tonight in delaying your pleasure until I see you again. This is of course completely up to you.”

 

“But, you want me to?” Dean’s voice was shy, but something else, too, and Castiel groaned in what sounded like pain to hear it.

 

“I do,” he whispered, “but only if you want to.”

 

“I - “ Dean hesitated, caressing Baby’s dash as he searched for words. “I mean, just from talking about it I’m so horny it hurts now, but I want to, because  _ you want me to _ . Does that even make sense?”

 

“Yes, Dean, it makes  _ perfect  _ sense, because you are my  _ perfect  _ boy.”

 

Dean moaned out loud, and he wasn’t even surprised this time. He let the wave of arousal wash over him, and listened to Castiel’s heavy breathing for a minute, while his heart slowed and his arousal slowly banked to a dull roar.

 

“ _ Jesus,  _ Cas, this is gonna be a rough night.”

 

“I know. Thank you, Dean.”

 

“You don’t have to  _ thank  _ me, Cas, you’re the best thing that's ever  _ happened  _ to me  -” 

 

Dean fell abruptly silent, the enormity of what he’d just said hanging between them, delicate and shimmering.

 

When Castiel finally spoke, his voice breaking, Dean could hear the tears in his eyes.

 

“ _ I love you too _ ,  _ Dean Winchester. _ ”

 

Two men listened to each other slowly breathing, trying to compose themselves, until Dean broke the silence with more than a stray sniffle.

 

“I gotta go take a really short - really cold - shower, Cas. Sam will be  _ so impressed. _ ”

 

Castiel barked a laugh, and the tension - the emotional tension anyway - melted away between them. 

 

“Good luck,” Castiel murmured. “Think about something else. Thinking about me while you  _ don’t _ touch yourself is black belt level stuff, Dean, I don’t recommend it for beginners.”

 

Dean choked, coughing out his laughter as he caught his breath.

 

“I like to jump in the deep end to learn to swim, Cas. I’m gonna  _ do  _ it.  _ Good night _ .”

 

“ _ Good night _ .”

  
  


***

  
  


On Wednesday, Castiel didn’t apply deodorant after he showered. He packed some though, in his overnight bag of toiletries, along with a couple garment bags - one of them for work tomorrow - his usual laptop bag, and another bag that looked quite similar containing a number of other things for the evening he had planned. He hadn’t rolled into work this tense in years, but there was nothing for it, he would just have to be very very careful not to snap at anyone or think of Dean... and of course thinking he shouldn’t immediately brought his thoughts directly to Dean, his mind traipsing down the  _ delicious  _ plans he had for later, and he cursed himself as he stared out the window at the concrete of the parking garage, waiting out his libido so that he could step out of his car.

 

It occurred to him, as he waited, slowly counting out his breath, that this would be untenable in the building, and he fished out his phone to text Dean.

 

“ _ Dean this is in no way a reflection on you except that I don’t trust my body if I see you. I apologize for this in advance but please don’t come see me at work today. I’ll eat lunch at my cubicle.” _

 

The answering text came almost immediately; he certainly hoped Dean wasn’t driving.

 

“ _ That bad, huh? ;-)” _

 

Castiel laughed out loud.  _ Jackass.  _

 

“ _ You have no idea. Thank you. I’ll see you tonight <3 _ ”

 

Castiel stared at his phone, wondering if he’d get a reply, elated at the one that arrived a few seconds later.

 

“ _ Can’t wait. :-* <3 _ ”

 

He read it a dozen times, tucked it away in his heart, and took the steps of the stairwell two at a time to do his penance until quitting time.

  
  


***

 

Dean was blessedly too busy at work, with several meetings and the subsequent paperwork, to spend too much time getting nervous for his evening. He was out at a meeting over lunch anyway so he wasn’t even tempted to pop by and see if just seeing him gave Cas wood - not that he would  _ do  _ that after Cas asked him not to, it just felt terribly flattering to think that Cas couldn’t even handle looking at him right now. All kinds of hot, to be honest, and if he weren’t so nervous about what Cas might need to  _ conserve his energy  _ for, he would probably be a lot more excited about it.

 

Dean’s day sped through the meetings, dragged through the paperwork, and then started to go by  _ way _ too fast as he slowly started to flip out about what Cas might be planning. By the time he was having a second key made for Baby he was so tense the hardware store guy asked him if he was okay, and he spent a good fifteen minutes sitting in the hardware store parking lot after that, playing Metallica way too loud and practicing the slow breathing Cas had taught him, to get a handle on himself before heading over to pick up Sam. 

 

Sam appeared at about a quarter to seven, plopped into Baby’s passenger seat, and gave Dean a raised-eyebrow once-over.

 

“Are you… okay?”

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“Are you sure? You seem, dunno, nervous.”

 

Dean sighed, ran a hand through his hair as he pulled Baby away from the curb.

 

“I think this falls under ‘stuff you don’t want to know,’ Sammy.”

 

Sam’s forehead creased in concern, his face completely serious. “That’s not fair, Dean. I tease, but if something has you this freaked, even if it’s sex stuff, I’m here for you, okay? I won’t make fun, I promise.”

 

Dean was silent for several miles, then he blew out a breath.

 

“Thanks, Sam.”

 

“Do you want to talk about anything?”

 

“No.”

 

Dean’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel for a little while.

 

“It’s just… “

 

“Mmm hmm?”

 

“Cas is planning something, and I don’t know what, and I guess I’m nervous, that’s all.”

 

Sam lifted his face from his laptop to study Dean’s scowl, his expression mild.

 

“Dude, you  _ love  _ him, and you love  _ everything he’s ever done to you _ . Tell me I’m wrong.”

 

Dean smirked, biting his lip. 

 

“You have a safeword, right?” 

 

“I mean, yeah, but - “

 

“Well then, just... let the man have his way with you, Dean, geez. He’ll stop anytime you want. You know what, if I know anything about Cas I bet he’ll stop _ ages  _ before it even occurs to you to use a safeword. He  _ watches  _ you, Dean. He  _ cares  _ about you. He isn’t gonna do anything you don’t want him to. I’d take that bet, and I’d  _ win _ . You know I’m right.”

 

Dean’s shoulders straightened as he nodded. Sam was right. He turned into the Motor Inn about half as nervous as he had been only minutes before, half turning to watch Sam as Sam looked around and his face split into a huge grin. 

 

“Oh my god.”

 

“You have no  _ idea,  _ Sam. I promise I won’t tell you what happens here but I  _ will  _ tell you about the rooms when I get home, I swear.” Dean smirked as he turned off Baby’s engine, reflexively pocketing her keys. He stepped out of Baby and into the sunset, retrieved his overnight bag and the dry cleaner’s bag he had tomorrow’s suit packed in from the back seat. 

 

“Seriously, this place is ah- _ ma _ -zing.”

 

Dean reached into his pocket to hand Sam the brand new set of keys and hesitated, the urge to crack a joke terribly strong, but maybe this was worth being serious for once.

 

“These are yours.” 

 

Dean couldn’t quite help himself from caressing Baby’s flank possessively, his hand tracing her chrome as Sam looked up at him in surprise, his floppy-haired face framed in Baby’s driver-side window where he’d slid over from the passenger seat. He reached a hand out tentatively, accepting the brand new set of keys with the proper amount of reverence.

 

Dean’s face struggled so hard that Sam cracked into a giant smirk, waiting, until Dean couldn’t stop himself, it just bubbled out of him.

 

“She’s-still-mine-don’t-touch-the-radio-don’t-crash-her-don’t-get-a-ticket-for-the-love-of-god-no-ethanol…”

 

He trailed off at Sam’s pure cascade of joyous laughter, reminding him of nothing more than Sam watching cartoons at five years old, spilling his cereal and milk all over himself while he giggled,  _ not  _ driving away in his Baby. Dean grinned down at his brother, practically a man now, turning shiny new keys in Baby’s ignition and smiling softly at her answering purr.

 

“Go have tons of loud, kinky sex,” Sam commanded, sticking his tongue out as he backed away from the curb.

 

“FINE, I WILL,” Dean yelled back, watching him go until he turned the corner, disappearing in a cloud of spinning gravel, just for effect.

 

Dean harrumphed, a wave of nerves washing over him and making him glad he had skipped dinner as he turned towards the motel office and forced himself to push his way inside the door.

  
  


***

  
  


Jason looked up from his crossword and beamed at Dean, who opened his mouth to say hello but didn’t even get a chance as Jason held up a finger and said, “Hang on, your man wrote you a love letter.”

 

“Wait, what?”

 

Jason grinned. “He spent like an hour on it over in the corner, hunched over the side table. I think he had  _ drafts. _ ” 

 

Jason waved at the corner of the small lobby and Dean looked over, picturing Cas bent over the side table, chewing on the end of a pen. 

 

“Here, see for yourself.”  

 

Jason handed Dean a sealed envelope with a Trusty Motor Inn logo in the corner.  Dean smirked at him, and Jason protested “ _ Hey,  _ I run a classy establishment!” as Dean shook his head and dragged his crap over to the corner to set it down and sit in the chair Castiel had composed in, sliding his pinky under the corner and splitting the envelope open as cleanly as he could. He settled in to read Castiel’s careful hand, his eyes widening by degrees as he took it in.

  
  
  


> _ Dean,  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Forgive me. When I went for a run at lunch today - yes, it was ‘that bad,’ -  I had a moment of clarity. To my horror, I realized that I let my imagination run so wild that I offered you no choice. I never intended that to happen, nor will it today. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Castiel rented the room in this establishment and I am afraid only Castiel can meet you there. His plans, to be completely frank, are terribly selfish and based entirely around his own fantasy of what he’d like to do to you in that space, including but not limited to: objectifying you with impunity, torturing you with delayed gratification, and, I am embarrassed to say, a number of things whose appeal seem to be rooted in their bearing the possibility of being humiliating for you - or at the very least intentionally degrading, whether or not you would feel humiliated cannot of course be known in advance. Additionally, at least the first several hours of these plans are completely indifferent to your pleasure - perhaps more focused on the exact opposite of giving you pleasure, in fact -  except for what pleasure you might incidentally derive from giving me a great deal of pleasure at your expense.  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ I neither gave you time to prepare yourself for this in advance, nor did I obtain your consent, and I am greatly ashamed. I attempted to mitigate the financial burden, but the emotional burden would still be yours to bear, and I want you to enter that room with your eyes open, should you decide to do so after reading my words. Of course I understand if I have been presumptuous and we can either revisit this room later or not at all. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Alternately, I am now waiting across the street, in a perfectly normal hotel room with a television and a mini bar and a very nice bed, which I would be glad to do anything you like in, even if that is just to fall asleep in your arms. You have only to say the word. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ If you would like to see Castiel, please ask Jason for the Trusty Motor Inn room key that is waiting for you, and sign the waiver to retrieve the second key. He wouldn’t let me sign it for you. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ For Cas, ask for the key for next door, which is also waiting for you.  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Please text me whom you would like to see once you have decided, and expect that I will need a few minutes to prepare myself before I see you either way. If I have destroyed the mood for you please let me know that as well, perhaps by sending a rating for the evening you’d like based on the film rating system from G to X. For anything under X please give me an hour’s lead time before I see you. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ I’m so sorry this is so crass. We can discuss this at length and devise a better system another time. _
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> _ Yours,  _
> 
> _ Castiel. _

  
  
  


Dean blinked slowly as he absorbed this fresh insight into Castiel’s thought processes, crossing his legs self-consciously and leaning forward as his heart rate increased. 

 

_ Holy. Shit.  _

 

Okay,  _ what _ had Castiel seen in that binder of room pictures that had sent him spiraling into a whirlwind of lust, fantasies that Dean  _ needed  _ to see for himself,  _ needed  _ to see what had Cas ‘conserving his energy’ for days,  _ needed  _ to let Cas torture him  _ any way he wanted  _ if it meant  _ that  _ Castiel would fuck him. 

 

Dean shuddered, sucking in a deep breath. The nerves were still there, worse, even, but he felt worlds better about it; knowing that Cas would always offer him an out made him want _in_ more than ever. He shut his eyes for a moment, wondering what Castiel meant by “ _torturing you with delayed gratification”_ and “ _intentionally degrading.”_ What did _Cas_ think was humiliating, that he was still willing to do?

 

Dean’s eyes flew open as he traced the letter with his index finger, looking for the phrase that had stuck out - there it was. “ _ financial burden. _ ” He tapped his finger on it, wondering. Did Cas mean the cost of the room? That couldn’t be it because he’d already planned to pay for that…  Well, he’d find out soon enough. 

 

Dean smirked to himself, picturing Cas writing this, worrying he was gonna need some time to jack it by himself from ruining the mood. Nerves notwithstanding, Dean had never had any intention of letting Cas down, and now his interest was, you could say, piqued.  He slung his garment bag casually over one arm to conceal, tucked the letter carefully into his breast pocket, shouldered his duffel, and stepped back up to the desk.

 

“I’d like the key to this place, please.”

 

Jason grinned up at him from his chair, heaving himself to his feet to reach for the key behind him on the grid of hooks. 

 

“I think you chose wisely.”

 

“Yeah?” Dean smirked, “how can you tell?”

 

“Because,” Jason observed, turning away to fish under the front desk and pulling up another garment bag to shove at Dean over the counter, “The other key didn’t come with a costume change.”

 

Dean’s eyes widened in surprise and Jason beamed at him. “Yeah. Can’t say I’m not curious, but I am a  _ professional _ , and in my profession, we  _ don’t  _ ask questions. _ ” _

 

Dean laughed out loud, shaking his head. He slung the second bag over his arm and was turning to go before Jason reminded him, “Hang on, you still have to sign the waiver for the second key.”

 

Dean turned back the the desk, curiosity burning him  _ alive. _

 

“What waiver? What key?”

 

“It’s for my insurance. Legally, I’m required to make you read it, but because I’m a standup guy who doesn’t want to spoil the surprise your man has waiting for you, I  _ could _ cover it up with my hand while you sign it...” Jason met Dean’s eyes, Dean’s brow furrowing into extreme consternation, and he snorted.  “Aww fuck it, you’ll see it in five minutes anyway, just promise you won’t tell him I spoiled you.”

 

“Can’t do that.” Dean shook his head solemnly. “If Cas didn’t want me to know, then don’t tell me. I’ll sign.”

 

Jason’s eyebrows rose. “Castiel resigned himself to the fact that you had to read the paperwork, Dean. I told him I could offer you some tips on the… play surface, and after I explained why, he was fine with it. But I applaud your loyalty.”

 

Dean studied Jason’s face carefully. His eyes were sincere behind the horn-rimmed glasses, sweeping lashes framing intelligent hazel eyes, and he was startlingly good-looking behind the beard. Dean found that his instinct said he could trust him, and he went with it.

 

“Okay, tell me.”

 

Jason grinned, shoving the piece of paper and a pen towards him. 

 

“Castiel has already paid the additional security deposit. You are agreeing not to insert the pool cues -  _ or,  _ for the love of all things Holy,  the  _ balls - _ into any part of your body.”

 

Dean laughed out loud, his face registering horror even as his mind spun a hundred miles a minute, and Jason nodded. 

 

“Some assholes - literally -  and an EMT crew later and my insurance nearly doubled. People are disgusting, Dean.”

 

“Jesus.” Dean signed willingly, and Jason grimaced, remembering.

 

“Yeah. Okay, so I had my pool table reupholstered in a  _ washable  _ fabric - “

 

“Good thinking.“

 

“You know it - but it makes the play a little different. The trick is to use about two-thirds the force that you’d expect to need, and only about ninety percent of the spin. Plus, the pockets aren’t that deep and if you drop one in with too much force, the ball will spin back out. Got it?”

 

“Got it.” Dean nodded seriously. This was  _ important;  _ if Castiel intended to watch him play pool  _ at all _ he needed to be  _ perfect  _ at it.

 

“Good. Get out of here. Out this door and to your right, about three hundred feet.”  Jason pushed the smaller key across the desk, and Dean collected that one too, nodding.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“My pleasure. Well, yours, really, if the look I saw on your man’s face has any say in your evening.”

 

Dean smirked, managing not to blush. He nodded at Jason in parting and pushed his way out the door carrying the extra mystery garment bag on top of the one he was already under, the strap of his duffel cutting into his shoulder, and three sets of keys jingling in his suit pants pocket. He followed the door numbers down to the right until he found the one that matched the key number, reached for the key just as he remembered he hadn’t texted Cas yet. He fished his phone out of his suit jacket pocket first so he could text Cas before he stepped into the space, thumbing in the text with one hand and pressing send when he’d managed it.

 

“ _ Castiel. XXX” _

 

Dean figured that would do the trick, and he shoved the phone back in his pocket to dig out the key and step inside with his eyes closed, shutting the door behind him by feel before opening his eyes to take it in all at once.

  
  


***

  
  


The room was their bar. Or close enough - wood paneling, a gorgeous solid wood bar with gleaming epoxy over dark finish, swivel barstools along one side, a skyscape of liquor bottles on a shelf under the mirror taking up most of the wall behind the bar. And every other wall from about four feet up, and -  _ Oh, would you look at *that* ,  _ Dean smirked to himself _ \-  _ part of the ceiling as well. There were half a dozen tall tables, matching counter-height chairs, and a gleaming pool table with a long, low light hanging several feel above it taking up most of the space where a bed might usually live in a hotel room, plenty of room all around it for actual game play.  

 

Dean’s mouth fell open as his simmering arousal - banked while chatting with Jason - sprang back to full mast picturing Castiel looking at photographs of this room and immediately imagining doing unspeakable things to him here. He took a deep breath, dropped his bag on one of the tables, slung his garment bag over one of the chairs, and unzipped the bag Cas had left for him, curiosity eating him alive.

 

There was a dark charcoal suit inside, and he stared at it in confusion just as his pocket vibrated.

 

“ _ Dean, I can’t tell you how pleased I am, but in a few minutes I will show you. Shower and dress in the suit I left for you. You may open the ziplock bag once you are dressed, then use the remaining time before I arrive to practice your game.” _

 

Deans eyebrow rose, but he texted back a playful 

 

“ _ Yes Sir. ;-) _ ”

 

before rapidly stripping down and grabbing his dopp kit to step into the bathroom. The illusion broke down here, a normal tub and vanity, but there  _ was _ a neon beer sign gently buzzing over the vanity mirror, and Dean grinned in delight.  _ Close enough. _ He showered rapidly, scrubbing  _ everything,  _ and brushing his teeth for good measure before toweling off and stepping back into the bar to get dressed. It felt weird to be naked next to a pool table but he figured it was gonna feel weirder in a minute as he applied his new cologne to his wrists and neck and pulled the garments out of the suit bag one by one.

 

It turned out there was a  _ very  _ nice suit in the bag, but also a pair of very soft silk boxers, and Dean found himself gasping at the sensation as he slipped them on. He assumed that not touching himself was understood, so he just enjoyed the sensation as he pulled on the trousers and undershirt and  _ very  _ nice white shirt that fit him just a little more snugly than he would have purchased for himself. Dean smirked to himself, pulling on the suit coat, and found a black silk tie hanging on the corner of the hanger, so he tied that around his neck, figuring he was on his own for shoes and socks and of course his belt, which he had already slipped through the loops and buckled on autopilot.  

 

There was a ziplock bag of some crumpled fabric at the bottom of the garment bag but he wasn’t technically dressed yet, so Dean pulled on his shoes and socks first, checking himself in the mirror over the bar.  Not half bad. Cas had great taste; this suit fit him perfectly, nearly but not quite as form-fitting as the one he’d worn to the Christmas party. He adjusted his tie, ran a hand absently through his hair, and reached for the ziplock bag just as his phone vibrated again.

 

“ _ Are you dressed?” _

 

_ “Yes Sir.” _

 

_ “Good Boy. Please open a beer and then the ziplock bag if you haven’t already, and then practice your game until I arrive. You may touch yourself but do not orgasm.” _

 

Dean shuddered, his nerves jangling again, but he was definitely on board with having a beer, and he stepped to the minibar tucked behind the big wood bar with fake taps and everything, to pull out an El Sol and open it with the gray steel opener screwed to the edge of the bar on the back side, reaching to the shelf of liquor out of curiosity to verify the bottles were  _ firmly  _ glued down.  _ Good thinking, Jason. _ He took a long pull of lager, his nerves already smoothing out with the first swallow, and stepped back around to his table to open the mysterious ziplock bag. It looked like -  _ is that the jogging shirt he wore the first time we -  _

 

The aroma hit him the moment he cracked the seal, making him cry out, gasping with the sudden urgency of his arousal as he brought the bag to his face and sucked in a heady breath, whimpering with need. Cas had shoved his crumpled jogging shirt in here - this must be from lunch, and - Dean shoved his hand down against his erection, feeling his pulse hammering through two layers of fabric, the silk taut around his cock.

 

_ Fuuuuck. Dirty pool, Cas. _

 

Dean set the bag reluctantly down on the table, but not before taking another hit, heat washing over him in waves as he walked trembling fingers to the glass wall case, needing three tries to liberate the cues he could see through the glass, and the balls he couldn’t, in a drawer that pulled out from below. He carried the tray to the table, slid the balls off in their corralling plastic triangle, and returned to eyeball the cues. Well,  _ these  _ were presumably new and unsullied. And quite nice, actually, maybe the nicest he’d ever seen. He pulled one down and found the chalk inside the case, applied it pensively, racked the balls with purpose.

 

Dean's first break popped several balls right off the table, and he chased them down before studying the surface of the table carefully. It was still felt, but with some sort of vinyl underlayment, and Jason was right, there was some sort of extra return on investment here. He practiced studiously for several minutes, frustration and need to get it right very nearly but not quite distracting him from the way the silk of the new boxers slid over his cock with every shift of his body. It was sensuous and maddening but he almost had the hang of this table, if he could just - 

 

A key turned in the lock. 

 

Dean froze, half bent over the pool table, his eyes lifting in slow motion to stare at the door.

 

The door opened, and Castiel stepped into the frame, silhouetted in the last of the setting sun, the spikes of his untameable sex hair on fire as the rays caught them from behind, his face hidden from Dean by a trick of the light. He had a rocks glass in his hand, Dean could see the sunset gleaming through the amber liquid inside, and he raised it to his lips to take a slow sip as Dean reflexively snapped to attention, the eyes Dean could not see nevertheless caressing him as they traveled from his face, across his shoulders, followed the line of his tie down his torso, lingered on the swell of his arousal, painful now, and then drifted slowly back up to rest on his face.

 

“Hello, Dean.”

 

Dean gulped, his voice rough when he found it. 

 

“Hello, Castiel.”

 

Castiel stepped inside, shut and locked the door behind him deliberately, efficiently, no motion wasted. He crossed to the table Dean had left his bag on, added the black bag he had slung over his shoulder beside it, then chose the unoccupied table closest to the pool table to pull up a chair, perch himself on it, slowly swirling the bourbon in his glass; Dean could smell it now, strong and sweet. 

 

Dean’s first desire had been to rush towards Castiel, to kiss him, to melt into his arms, but he hadn’t dared to move, and now that he could see Castiel’s face he was glad he hadn’t presumed such familiarity. Castiel was menacing, his eyes even darker than the bar light should tease his pupils, his lips forming a tight line that parted now as he raked his eyes over Dean’s form, chills racing up and down Dean’s arms as Castiel’s eyes devoured him.

 

“Please,” Castiel purred, “don’t let me keep you from your game.”

 

Dean nodded, barely keeping himself from squeaking out loud, and he collected the balls into the triangle rack so he could break for Castiel, a new game, a fresh start. He had them collected but hadn’t removed the triangle when Castiel spoke again.

 

“Did you enjoy my gift?”

 

Dean startled, glancing down at the suit he was wearing, but Castiel’s gaze was on the plastic bag on the table behind him. He meant the jogging tee, and Dean flushed as he nodded.

 

“Show me.”

 

Dean stepped uncertainly towards Castiel, who was now holding the bag out towards him. He  reached out tentatively to accept it and cried out as Castiel’s fingers brushed over his, the sparks crossing the distance between them so powerful the shock was almost painful. 

 

Castiel retracted his fingers immediately, scowling.

 

“Not yet,” he growled. “Breathe me, Dean.”

 

Dean did as he was told, staring at Castiel as he lifted the bag to take a deep breath and closing his eyes as the wave hit him,  _ need,  _ combined with the sparks still racing up and down his spine from Castiel’s touch, the force almost buckling his knees. He started to pant, not daring to lower the bag, each breath headier than the last, until Castiel spoke again.

 

“Enough. Now show me you have mastered this table.”

 

Dean retreated, stumbling, Castiel snatching the bag from his fingers and setting it aside as he retrieved a bottle from his black bag and set it on the table beside his glass of bourbon. Dean racked the balls and used about half the force he had last time; a decent break, none spinning off the table this time.

 

“A wager?” Castiel growled.

 

“I’m sorry, Sir?”

 

“For each shot you make, a reward. For each you miss, a punishment.”

 

Dean’s eyes flared in astonishment. 

 

“But - this table - “   
  


“You’re right, Dean, I am far too lenient. For each three shots you make then. I will still punish you for each shot you miss, of course.” 

 

The curve on Castiel’s lip was deliciously cruel, and Dean nodded his acquiescence silently, not daring to protest again in case he made it even worse on himself.

 

“Good. You may begin. Call each of your shots, but do not lift your eyes from the table unless you have just succeeded three times in a row, in which case you may look at me. 

 

Dean gulped and bent to his task, his hands shaking, as he  _ heard  _ a zipper unzip,  _ heard  _ the obscene squirting noise of lube hitting Castiel’s palm.   _ Oh my GOD is he -  _ he  _ was _ , Dean could hear him, Castiel’s breath coming in grunts and gasps as Dean desperately called out, “Stripes, eleven in the corner.” He made that shot, and the next, not daring to look up but it was  _ torture,  _ feeling Castiel’s eyes all over him, the  _ heat  _ radiating off him in waves Dean could  _ feel _ , until Dean just missed his third shot with a touch too much force.

 

Dean froze as Castiel growled, his voice strained,  “Take off your suit jacket and bring it to me. Do not look at me.”

 

Dean peeled off the new jacket, his hands shaking, and carried it toward Castiel, his eyes on his feet, the slick sounds of Castiel masturbating  _ killing  _ him.

 

“ _ Kneel _ . Hold it out.” 

 

_ Holy. Fuck.  _ Dean  _ knelt,  _ his eyes firmly shut, his forehead creased in pain, as he heard Castiel surge to his feet in front of him,  _ felt  _ Castiel’s climax, Castiel’s pleasure washing over him in a wave of sparks as Castiel groaned, his breath loud and rasping, spattering the suit jacket with his pleasure, in a rain that Dean could hear and feel land, the pain of not being allowed to watch pulling a low moan of anguish from his lips.

 

“Look at me,” Castiel commanded.  Dean’s eyes flew open to find Castiel’s face, eyes dark and still menacing, the lust on his face barely even dented. 

 

“Look what you made me do,” Castiel growled, glaring at the jacket. Dean’s eyes fell to it immediately, his stomach dropping in terror he had done something wrong. The pearly beads of Castiel’s issue were already soaking into the fabric, and Castiel raised his eyebrows at Dean in surprise. 

 

“Go on, go rinse that out before it sets, Dean, that suit was expensive! There’s club soda in the bar.”

 

Dean’s mouth fell open as Castiel frowned at him and he fell over himself to comply, racing to the bar and then the bathroom, scrubbing and rinsing and not daring to do what he really wanted to do, which was, to his utter shame, lean down and taste it. He could hear Castiel getting impatient as he hurriedly hung the jacket over the shower curtain rod and raced back to the pool table, not daring to look at Castiel.

 

“ _ Finally,”  _ Castiel murmured. “Would you please fetch me another drink, Dean? I seem to be... indisposed.” Dean couldn’t help a tiny peek, Castiel watching him evenly, empty glass in one hand, erect cock in the other, slowly sliding long fingers up and down. Castiel allowed this one small impunity as Dean’s lips parted with want, staring at Castiel’s hand, then an eyebrow went up and Dean leapt to fetch the bottle of bourbon from the shelf behind the bar where Castiel had obviously left it earlier, this bottle newer than the others and also not glued down. He poured until Castiel nodded, helpless to keep his eyes from glancing down at Castiel’s slowly stroking hand.

 

“Actually I could use a top-up there, too, if you wouldn’t mind, Dean?”

 

Dean’s mouth fell open again as Castiel held his slickened hand out, slowly sipping bourbon, his bare cock glistening, curving up from his zipper towards the buttons of his white shirt, completely, incongruously, shocking in a bar with a pool table with both of them fully clothed, as Dean reached for the bottle of lube with trembling hands, and squirted some into Castiel’s outstretched palm.

 

“Thank you,” Castiel sighed, wrapping his hand back around his cock and arching into it, Dean was suddenly certain, entirely for the way it made Dean’s knees go weak and his mouth water.  

 

“Now go call your shots. You’re starting over at one, Dean. This one was free, because I am feeling generous, but do not look at me without permission again.”

  
Dean entirely suppressed his squeak of protest and nodded his obedience, stepping to his game to re-chalk his cue and lean over with great concentration to study what his next shot should be. His tie fell forward without the suit jacket to pin it behind, and he carefully unbuttoned a button of his shirt to tuck the tie inside, feeling Castiel’s interest follow his fingers carefully as he did so.  _ Oh. OH.  _ Dean felt a ripple of gooseflesh tickle him as his mind offered a suggestion, and he stalled, leaning forward to study the table, as he considered the current rules of this little game. 

 

_ He hasn’t said I can’t touch myself yet, just that I can’t come. _

 

_ I can’t look *at* him, but he is jacking off *right now*, in a room full of mirrors. _

 

_ Give the man a *show*, Dean. _

 

Dean’s slowly spreading smirk raised an eyebrow from Castiel, the motion of his hand pausing for a moment before resuming it’s slow stroking, but if Dean felt it, he made no indication. Instead, he called out, “Blue stripe, combination off the green solid into the side pocket.” 

 

Dean strode purposefully around to Castiel’s side of the table, bent over the table, legs a little further apart than necessary, ass up, back arched. He heard Castiel’s sharp intake of breath as he struck the cue, but he was expecting it, and his shot went in without a hiccup. He straightened, shoulders square, stealing a quick glance at Castiel in the opposing mirror, his knees almost buckling at the view, called the next one out loud and clear. 

 

“Orange stripe, straight shot, corner pocket.” 

 

Dean didn’t even bend over for that one, knocked it in, reached down to brush fingers over his cock through the trousers, adjusting the silk and moaning softly as his eyelids fluttered shut. He could hear Castiel gasping, hear his hand moving faster, slick slapping sounds that he always thought were exaggerated in porn, but apparently not. He braced himself on the table, Castiel’s noises maddening, took a deep, shuddering breath, and turned his back on Castiel to survey the new arrangement on the table and steal another furtive glance. He saw the shot he wanted, easy, perfect, and he circled around the back side of the table, carefully keeping his eyes downcast, to call out his last of three.

 

“Maroon stripe in the side, gonna knock it in there with the solid yellow.” Dean figured all the colors were fair game since he had no opponent he couldn’t exactly lose a turn, and he wanted that shot because - he leaned wayyy down, arms outstretched, straining the shirt Cas had bought him intentionally tight, eyes following the balls as they did his bidding, white knocking yellow into burgundy and clicking slowly into the pocket he’d chosen because it was a direct line of sight to Castiel.

 

Dean’s eyes continued past the pocket, past the table, across the room, and up Castiel’s body, lingering on his hand, now stroking much more slowly, following the line of his cock up the row of shirt buttons - visible since Cas had tucked his tie in his pocket. Dean’s eyes grazed up the planes of Castiel’s chest, lingered on his mouth, lips parted, tongue just touching his lips, and made his way to Castiel’s eyes, which were watching him calmly; admiring, but shrewd.

 

“Well, Dean,“ Castiel observed wryly, “at least you put on a good show while you flagrantly disobey me. Come here.”

 

Dean’s eyes widened as he leapt to obey, laying his cue carefully down on the side of the pool table and rushing to stand in front of Castiel, hands obediently at his sides.

 

Castiel observed Dean for a moment, his stroking hand falling still and his forehead furrowing as he swirled his bourbon glass pensively.

 

“I get the distinct impression you’re enjoying yourself a little  _ too  _ much, Dean, and we can’t be having any of  _ that.  _ Not yet.” 

 

Castiel raised an eyebrow as Dean snorted and then tried to keep his face straight, but it was a fair cop, and they stared at each other for a moment, Dean grinning and Castiel shaking his head in mild irritation, before Castiel’s face went wicked again.

 

“Well, I did promise you a reward for three shots in a row, and you shall have one, before we, let’s say ‘up the ante.’ Would you like to watch or taste this time, Dean?”

 

Dean wanted both. He held his face meekly innocent while his mind spun a million miles a second, looking for a way to - it was gonna be impossible to sneak a taste, but Cas hadn’t been too mad when he peeked before, so maybe - he barely hesitated before blurting out eagerly, “Taste please, Cas.”

 

“ _ Excuse _ me?”

 

_ Shit.  _

 

_ “ _ Taste,  _ Sir! _ ”

 

Castiel stared at Dean’s face for several seconds, his brow a gathering storm, and then he shook his head firmly, his voice cold when he spoke. 

 

“I find your attitude lacking tonight, Dean. I was going to let you taste, but now I just don’t think you deserve to.”

 

Dean’s stomach dropped, sour adrenaline surging in his gut and his erection instantly flagging as Castiel’s disappointment registered, a noise of agony escaping his lips before he clamped his mouth shut so hard he tasted blood. He shut his eyes and bowed his head, shoulders sinking unconsciously as he shrank in the face of Castiel’s displeasure. He didn’t know how to redeem himself but he knew that standing over Castiel wasn’t right and he dared to beg, his voice a husky whisper.

 

“ _ May I - may I kneel, Sir? _ ” 

 

Castiel watched him carefully, but the cocky arrogance seemed gone, the offer therefore acceptable on the surface.

 

“I suppose,” Castiel sighed, the sharpness of his commands from before gone from his voice.

 

Dean knelt, eyes still tightly shut, his stomach in knots, the fabric of the white shirt taut over his back and shoulders as he bowed his head and rested his hands on his knees. Castiel was silent, staring at him for what felt like an eternity.  At first Dean's ears strained for sound, but when none came, no sound at all, good or bad, time slowed to an agonizing crawl. Dean sank into a slow miasma of despair, his breathing slowing and finally hitching as the agony became too much to bear.

 

“Perhaps my discomfort is making me too cruel.”  

 

Castiel’s voice was loud in the silence, frustration and defeat coloring his tone over the sound of his zipper sliding closed. Dean’s surprise made his body twitch before he fell completely still again, on tenterhooks now.

 

“I’m sorry, this isn’t working for me, Dean. Maybe I shouldn’t have waited so long; I am aware doing so can make me short-tempered and irritable and I fear my mood may be interfering with our evening. I - I think I need to take the edge off on my own. Perhaps then I will be able to continue where we left off, if you still wish to let me try afterwards. Wait here; I will return in an hour - “

 

“ _ Nooo!”  _ Dean’s agonized cry startled them both, but Dean’s face was twisted in desperation when he lifted it to meet Castiel’s eyes. “ _ Please don’t go,”  _ he begged, his eyes misting.

 

Castiel shook his head in frustration, his voice low and his speech clipped as he spoke. 

 

“Dean, I am no longer aroused by your proximity. I feel only a vicious desire to punish you right now, more harshly than seems in keeping with the crimes of stealing glances and forgetting an honorific. I am simultaneously terribly pent and if I can just  -”

 

Dean shook his head vigorously, his hands clenching and unclenching on his knees. 

 

“ _ It's not you, it's me; this is my fault, _ ” he whispered.  _ “ _ I asked for  _ Castiel _ , and you brought him -  _ all _ of him; you saved him up for me - and I - I didn’t give him what he needed.  _ I’m so sorry _ , Please don’t go, Castiel, please… just…  _ punish me any way you want until he wants me again.” _

 

Castiel’s fingers slowly drummed on the table, his forehead creased, his lips forming a harsh, flat line.

 

“Are you  _ certain? _ ”

 

“ _ Yes. _ ” 

 

Dean  _ was _ certain, his face imploring Castiel’s forgiveness, eyes cast down, no trace of the insolence that had derailed Castiel’s groove. 

 

“Very well. Give me your tie.”

 

Dean untied his tie with trembling fingers as fast as he could manage, held it out in both hands, eyes still tightly shut, uncertainty jangling his nerves again but his desperate desire to please sincere now - too little too late - his energy flowing towards Castiel, imploring, and hitting a brick wall, nothing coming back. 

 

Castiel deftly plucked the tie from Dean's fingers, stepped behind him to tie it around his head as a blindfold. He tested the tightness, his fingers somehow never touching any part of Dean’s body.

 

“Is that comfortable?” Castiel’s voice was impassive, clinical, and Dean nodded, whispering, “Yes, Sir.” 

 

“Good. Take off your shirt.”

 

Dean unbuttoned and shrugged out of the shirt faster than he’d ever done in his life, holding it out in his hands uncertainly. Castiel plucked it from his fingers, strode rapidly away, and shut himself in the bathroom. Dean strained his ears, not daring to move or breathe, until he heard a muffled groan and he forlornly realized Castiel was masturbating with a closed door between them. Dean sagged into a ball, hugging his knees and fighting tears. 

 

_ Dude. Cas warned you exactly who was - and wasn't - gonna be coming if you stepped in here, and you said yes anyway. You asked for *Castiel*, and he delivered - brought his fucking A game - and then you got all cocky and looked for loopholes and ways to cheat. *That* Castiel has needs. Man up and take it until he comes back out to play, *if* he’ll even come back out after the shit you pulled. _

 

Dean took a deep breath, held it for several seconds, blew it out slowly, did it again. He could hear water running - was Castiel already done? - the door opening. He remained where he was, head on his knees, silently waiting, as Castiel approached, his energy not quite as closed off as before.

 

“I need your undershirt now.” 

 

Castiel’s voice wasn’t exactly friendly, but less indifferent, and Dean uncurled himself from basically fetal position on his knees, untucked the shirt with a shimmy, tried to peel it off maybe a little sexily as well as as quickly as he could manage, careful not to dislodge the tie blindfold, head still bowed but shoulders square as he folded the shirt and held it out in both hands in front of him.

 

Castiel plucked this shirt from his hands almost like before, but he let a finger brush against Dean’s palm as he did so and Dean shuddered involuntarily at the sparks, barely less shocking than the first touch tonight, rekindling a hint of interest in his completely soft dick. He ignored it, didn’t move, and he could feel Castiel watching him speculatively.

 

“How did it make you feel to know I was masturbating in the bathroom?”  

 

Castiel’s tone was curious but not invested, and Dean answered immediately, without taking time to choose his words carefully.

 

“Sad. Angry at myself for disappointing you. Sorry.” 

 

“Not aroused?”

 

“No, Sir.”

 

Castiel’s fingers drummed on the table beside him for a minute. 

 

“I was thinking about when you gave yourself to me in the locker room, Dean. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since that night. Have you thought about that when you masturbate?”

 

“ _ Yes, Sir,”  _ Dean whispered, his cheeks flushing. He could feel Castiel’s interest perk up, his eyes - but not his fingers - caressing the flush on his face.  

 

_ He had to shut himself in the bathroom to think about when you did it right, even though you’re two feet away from him *right now*.  _

 

That hurt, pain spreading out from his stomach, but Dean ignored it to shut his eyes under the blindfold and lean towards Castiel imploringly, his tongue darting out nervously to moisten his lips.

 

Castiel watched with interest, his eyes traveling over Dean’s lips and shoulders and his bare back, his attention feeling a little heavier, a little more present in the here and now.

 

“I’m ready to come again; I’ll return in a minute.“

 

“Yes, Sir.” 

 

Dean bowed his head, hands relaxed on his knees, but Castiel didn’t step away yet.

 

“How does that make you feel?”

 

“Fine, Sir.”

 

“What do you mean by fine, Dean?”

 

“Sad. Angry at myself. Sorry. Ashamed you had to think about spending time with me last week to get hard because I let you down tonight. But it doesn’t matter, Sir, whatever you want, is what I want, and you want me to wait here, so it’s fine, Sir.”

 

Castiel hesitated, his attention growing a little more intense, Dean could feel  _ that _ Castiel hovering, considering taking over, but he wasn’t here yet. Dean waited quietly while this in-between Castiel deliberated.

 

“I like when you’re aroused.”

 

 Castiel’s voice sounded petulant, completely out of character, and Dean held very still, answering with as little inflection as he could manage.

 

“I like that, too, Sir, but I feel like shit for disappointing you, and that’s kind of running the show right now.”

 

“Would a beer help?”

 

“I don’t know, Sir. Maybe.” 

 

This Castiel was  _ weird,  _ distant and adrift, not as self-possessed as Cas, definitely not  _ that  _ Castiel. Dean fervently hoped another orgasm would help snap him out of whatever this was, and he made a tentative offer. 

 

“I’ll try, Sir. Maybe you would like to watch me drink it?” 

 

Dean’s painstaking deference was sincere, hopeful, his energy gently seeking, and Castiel slowly nodded his permission, following with a verbal command when a blindfolded Dean of course made no motion to obey.

 

“Alright. Stand up; come sit at the table with me.”

 

Dean flowed to his feet, his naked torso incongruous with his suit trousers and shiny black belt, and he felt Castiel’s eyes rake over his chest with interest. He reached out with both hands, felt his way until he hit the table, found the chair and sat in it obediently without complaint, waiting quietly.

 

Castiel stepped away, reached into the mini fridge, opened the beer for him. He came back to the table, set the beer in front of Dean, murmured, “Drink it.”

 

Dean reached out a hand, found the beer, lifted it to his lips sensuously, slowly, pressing his lips to it like he had to Cas’s cock that first time, deliberate and gentle. He let his tongue dart to the tip of the bottle as he tilted it back, took a little more of the bottle into his mouth than was strictly necessary. The first swallow did soothe, as did Castiel’s soft sigh, and he set the beer carefully back down, licking his lips. Castiel’s attention felt a little more interested, more like a touch, and Dean went for broke.

 

“Would you like to touch yourself here while I drink my beer, Sir? I would find that  _ very _ arousing.”

 

There was a moment of silence in which Dean worried he may have overstepped, but this Castiel was just mulling it over, and after a few seconds of deliberating he shrugged his agreement.  

 

“Alright. I’ll get the lubricant.”

 

Dean listened carefully, but Castiel did just that, returning almost immediately to sit across from Dean, unzip his trousers, and squirt lubricant into his palm. Dean’s lips parted in want and his breath hitched as he deliberately took another slow sip of beer, pressing the bottle to his lips, tilting to swallow in slow motion, caressing the neck of the bottle as he set it down. 

 

Castiel gasped, his attention so close to all the way here that Dean moaned, wrapped both hands around the beer bottle, and lowered his lips to it instead of the other way around. He tilted the bottle slowly towards himself, holding the tip in his mouth, and then just... went for it, pressing his lips a couple inches down over the neck of the bottle, sliding back up with his tongue flat against it, his eyelashes fluttering under the blindfold, Castiel’s groan a balm to his very core. 

 

Dean took another regular sip, alternating technically drinking the beer with fellating the bottle, Castiel’s attention rapt, his breath coming in increasingly rapid gasps and finally a guttural groan as he pulsed into Dean’s undershirt.

 

When Castiel spoke again, the hair on Dean’s body stood upright.

 

“Are you aroused now, Dean?” 

 

The menace in that voice was unmistakable, and Dean’s eyes welled in relief behind the blindfold.

 

“ _ Yes, Sir.” _

 

_ “Good Boy.”  _

 

Dean’s body rippled with a wave of arousal at Castiel’s praise, and Castiel nodded his approval.

 

“I am going to masturbate in the bathroom again now, Dean, but this time it is not because I need to think about a time I found you arousing, it is specifically to punish you right now. I will be thinking of you right now, in this room, waiting for me. I want you to be frustrated, thinking about me fucking my hand and not your mouth because you don’t deserve a taste yet. I want you to feel aroused, and frustrated, but not sad, or angry at yourself, because once I have punished you you will be forgiven, and then I will torture you for no reason beyond my own enjoyment. Do you understand?”

 

Dean’s mouth fell open and he nodded in astonishment, whispering, “ _ Yes, Sir, _ ” eagerly.

 

“Good. Since you’ve proven you cannot be trusted tonight, I am going to bind your hands behind your back so you don’t disobey me. Do you have any unpleasant associations with this activity that I should know about, any reason not to do this or to fear for your mental state if I leave you bound and alone for several minutes?

 

Dean gulped, the overwhelming shame at not deserving to be trusted making his chest so tight he could barely breathe. “ _ No, Sir,”  _ he whispered. _ “I’m so sorry, Sir.” _

 

Dean could feel Castiel observing him calmly, assessing him, his attention heavy and intense. He was wearing that new cologne, Dean realized suddenly; this was the first time he’d come close enough for Dean to smell it.

 

“I believe you,” Castiel replied finally. “Please me well tonight, and I may relent. Now cross your arms behind your back.”

 

Dean immediately did as he was told, and he felt soft silk brush against him as Castiel wrapped his tie around Dean’s wrists, knotted it gently. Castiel’s fingers trailed up Dean’s naked back, leaving a trail of sparks in their wake. He touched the blindfold, slipped it up and off, Dean’s eyes resolutely clenched tightly shut in case he wasn’t meant to open them. He could hear Castiel step away, hear him rummage in his bag, and when he returned to stand directly in front of Dean, Dean could feel his body heat, smell his cologne, and his body vibrated with tension and arousal, fighting the urge to lean towards him.

 

“Good,” Castiel murmured softly. “Open your eyes.”

 

Dean’s eyes flew open, blinking even in the dim light as they adjusted, and flared wide as they focused on Castiel’s open palm. He had three toys lined up, from slim to scary thick, black, maybe rubber, no longer than four inches or so with tapered tips and flared bases. Dean’s heart started to pound in terror, his nostrils flaring to match, but he held his breath and waited.

 

“Choose one.” Castiel’s command was sharp, but Dean could hear an undercurrent of humor underneath and his terror came down a notch to just apprehension. 

 

_ Castiel won’t hurt me.  _

 

Dean chose the slimmest one immediately, croaking, “Furthest one to my left.”

 

Castiel looked disappointed, but he snatched it up with his free hand, closed his hand around the other two to spin on his heel and drop them back in his bag.

 

“Stand up.” 

 

Dean stood up immediately, his legs unsteady from kneeling, and Castiel caught his arm to steady him until he stopped swaying on his feet, sparks traveling up Dean’s arm, bright and hot. Castiel grinned at him wickedly, his open hand now cradling the chosen toy plus a condom, snatched the bottle of lube from the table, and tilted his head for Dean to follow him. Dean obeyed immediately, trepidatious but obedient, and Castiel stopped at the bathroom door, turning to grin absolutely wickedly at Dean.

 

“Kneel here.”

 

Dean  _ knelt _ , Castiel’s hand gripping his shoulder helping his balance, his center of gravity a little different with his arms behind his back. Castiel snapped his fingers, an even more wicked idea flowing across his face as he lightly stepped away to retrieve something else, stepped back to Dean, tensely kneeling on the floor by the bathroom door, his head bowed and his breath rasping in nervous exhalations past parted lips.

 

Castiel’s thumb traced the line of Dean’s jaw; his fingers lifted Dean’s face to look at him. 

 

“I found you a new blindfold,” he murmured, watching for Dean’s reaction carefully. 

 

Dean nodded, his eyes slipping closed, and it wasn’t until the fabric fell over his face that he understood, his breath sucking in a huge gulp, his exhale a desperate moan.

 

“I’m glad my run wasn’t wasted,” Castiel murmured, pressing his thumb to Dean’s lips through the jogging shirt, and shuddering as Dean eagerly moistened the fabric to suck on it.  

 

“I’m going to go fuck myself with this toy you chose instead of your cock now,” Castiel purred, his voice smooth as velvet. “I want you to listen, and I want you to think about how I would have preferred to use your cock for this, but your disobedience cost both of us that pleasure tonight.”

 

He spun on his heel and stepped into the bathroom, Dean’s low keening wail of agony notwithstanding. The door shut gently but firmly inches from Dean’s face, and he leaned forward forlornly to press his forehead against it, smelling nothing but Castiel’s intoxicating scent all around him, the shame binding his arms far more securely than any tie could have done as he strained his ears for sound, alternating holding his breath with panting in an agony of frustration and desperate arousal.

 

Castiel was moving around, maybe undressing? Dean could hear the condom wrapper tearing, the squirt of lubricant, then Castiel’s low, pleased groan.  _ FUCK.  _ Dean’s cock strained against the zipper of his trousers, so tangled in the silk boxers he was wearing it hurt, and he moaned softly in pain and want, rocking back and forth on his knees in agony, his forehead pressing against the door. He could hear obscene squelching noises now, he didn’t know if it was from Cas fucking his ass or his fist, both, probably, and his cock twitched inside the unforgiving twisted silk, the pain what he deserved, the agony of being so aroused and so shut out soothing him as the way to earn forgiveness, a penance for his sins.

 

Castiel was panting now, each breath a groan, the squelching noises rapid and rhythmic, in time with his moans. Dean couldn’t remember ever being more aroused in his life, his agony right and correct, if Castiel wanted it. His cock burned in its silk prison, the tiny friction of the motion of his breath and the pounding of his heart causing involuntary twitching, sensation which registered as searing pain, sensation his screaming senses filtered through the noises Castiel was making, the scent and taste of Castiel in his nose and in his mouth, and suddenly it was pleasure, excruciatingly intense, sparks of pleasure radiating from the line up his back and his shoulder and arm and the side of his jaw, everywhere Castiel had trailed burning fingers earlier, multiplied in his cock as his heartbeat pounded in the tight fabric twisting his cock into an agony of burning pleasure, Castiel’s noises now so close to how he sounded when - 

 

Castiel’s rhythmic noises ended in a stuttering groan. The sounds of his pleasure washed over Dean in a cascade of sparks that made all of Dean’s body hair stand on end and his flesh ripple with chills as Castiel’s groan ignited the tension in his silk prison, a flashpoint, an eruption of pain and pleasure so intense he cried out in agony, certain this was forbidden, helpless to stop it as each panting breath hit him with another wave of Castiel’s potent musk, his eyes welling in terror Castiel would be angry even as the waves of pleasure crashed over him as he crested into knotted silk.

 

Dean didn’t hear the doorknob turn and he pitched forward when Castiel pulled the door open, yelping in surprise as Castiel caught him, set him back on his knees, lifted the jogging tee from his face to drop it on the floor and study Dean’s terrified face, blinking away tears.

 

“Did you touch yourself, Dean?” Castiel sounded keenly interested, but not angry - not yet - the potential hovering, waiting on the answer.

 

“Noo-ooo-ooo,” Dean shook his head vehemently, still shuddering in the aftershocks of his orgasm, his cock thankfully retreating from the painful twists of the silk. He winced and hissed in pain, and Castiel’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.

 

“Did you do  _ anything at all _ to give yourself pleasure, despite my explicit command to listen to me silently in frustration and penance, Dean?”

 

Dean shook his head, his eyes welling in earnest. 

 

“ _ No! I Swear, Cas - FUCK - I mean Sir Oh god I’m so sorry, Sir.” _

 

Dean shut his eyes, wincing in terror he had ruined it again, tears sliding down his face.  He did not see Castiel’s face soften, his eyes widen in wonder.

 

Dean felt his arms being unbound, pulled them around instinctively to rub them where they were numb. He stood as Castiel’s hands pulled him to his feet, opened his eyes as Castiel knelt on one knee to undress him; undid his belt, unhooked his trousers, unzipped his fly, gently peeled his pants down, then his gray silk boxers. They were still twisted, darker in spots where Dean had soiled them, and his cock was red in two lines where the twists had chafed him, still a little purple from the circulation loss.

 

Castiel stared at his cock in surprise, and then his eyes traveled to Dean’s face. 

 

“Did this... hurt?”

 

“ _ Very much _ , Sir,” Dean nodded vehemently.

 

“But then when you heard me come, it made you come?”

 

“Yes, Sir.” Dean hung his head. “I couldn’t stop it, I’m sorry, Sir, I held perfectly still and it hurt so much - but I - I was  _ glad  _ it hurt, I  _ deserved _ it - and then it hurt  _ and  _ felt good. And then I felt bad for disobeying and it hurt again.”

 

Castiel gently pulled up Dean’s boxers, refastened his trousers, buckled Dean’s belt in slow motion, reverently. He stood, his hand reaching out to caress Dean’s face, then to hold his face in his palm, while Dean closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, sighing.

 

“I am not angry or disappointed, Dean,” Castiel promised quietly, watching Dean sag as the fear drained from his body. “You were right, it wasn’t the missing honorific.  _ This  _ is what was missing,  _ my beautiful, perfect boy _ , but he’s here now, and I am  _ so  _ pleased with you, Dean.”

 

Dean moaned softly, his lips parting. He rocked gently on his feet, his eyes tightly shut, his entire awareness focused on Castiel’s hand, warm and tingling on the side of his face, while Castiel considered, very carefully, what he wanted to do next.

 

“I find I no longer wish to torture you, Dean - “ Castiel hurried to continue as Dean’s forehead furrowed in dismay “ - but I have a fantasy I would still very much like to fulfill with you in this room before I take you next door to make love to you, would that be alright?”

 

“Anything,” Dean breathed, his eyelashes fluttering open to gaze at Castiel in worship.

 

“I’m very glad to hear you say that, Dean.” 

 

Castiel grinned wickedly, and winked, Dean’s eyes flaring in surprise and mirth and his lips spreading in a huge answering grin.

 

Castiel spun away to rummage through his black bag again, returning with another condom and a brand new toy the same model as Dean had chosen before, but bright purple inside the blister packaging. Dean’s eyes widened in surprise and then mirth again as Castiel murmured, “A gift. Please make yourself intimately familiar with it at your earliest opportunity - right now in point of fact, in the bathroom - and return to the pool table clothed, but… wearing this as well. So to speak.”

 

Castiel’s forehead creased and he added in an apologetic tone, “You’ll need to wear your own clothes; I’m sorry, I’ve already ruined the set I bought you. I won’t harm yours.”

 

Dean’s gaze was steady, and his eyes were very bright. 

 

“You can ruin anything of mine you like,  _ Sir. _ ”

 

“ _ Soon.”  _ Castiel’s voice was low, and laced with want. “But tonight, I’ll pretend, if you’ll indulge me. My fantasy is to bend you over that table - “ his voice dropped to a whisper, with a touch of pleading as Dean stiffened “ -  _ pretend _ , Dean. I will pretend that toy is my cock inside you, and I will do no more than we’ve already done,  _ please,  _ I’ve thought of nothing else since I laid eyes on the photographs of the room - _ ”   _ but Dean was already reaching to catch Castiel’s fingers, to lift them to his lips to press soft kisses to them, his eyes twinkling.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Really?”

 

“ _ Yes.  _ Let me take a leak and wash up and, uh, figure out the equipment. I’ll be out here in ten, okay?”

 

Castiel nodded eagerly, more Cas than Castiel, Dean could tell the difference at a glance now.

 

Dean could feel him though, hovering, and he had every intention of luring him out by bending over that pool table, until it wasn’t pretend anymore. He gathered his clothes and the equipment and the tail end of his warm first El Sol, winked at Cas, and disappeared into the bathroom to make Castiel's fantasies come true.

  
  


***

  
  


Castiel waited impatiently at his table, swirling a finger of bourbon in his glass and wishing he’d insisted on helping Dean figure out the toy, or at least on  _ watching, _ but no. Dean had to want it and the best way to be sure of that was exactly the way he’d done it. He took a small sip of the spirit, let the flavor coat his mouth, sighing. He felt a lot better now than when he’d first stepped into the room, despite the hiccup in the middle where Dean had lied to him. Castiel took a deep breath, pushing the anger away in his exhale.  _ No. Dean is forgiven. _ Dean’s playful attempts to cheat had left him colder than he’d ever felt towards Dean before, and that probably bore further examination. Castiel stared down at the amber nectar in his glass, contemplating.

 

The false innocence Dean had affected as he schemed ways to cheat had made Castiel coldly furious and instantly killed his sexual appetite for the - still very attractive - bare chested man standing in front of him, leaving him at a momentary loss for any way to salvage the evening. He had been indifferent to Dean kneeling at his feet, Dean’s body no longer appealing, Castiel’s carefully stockpiled excess of sexual energy still clamoring to be released but no longer able to be directed towards this... untrustworthy doppelganger in any way. He hadn’t understood, hadn’t known this could happen, and the loss was startling and painful, immediately leaving to be alone the only idea he could think of to clear his head and maybe work off some of his stress.

 

Dean’s sorrow had stayed him, the love he felt for Dean clearly not changed, just the attraction missing, and that had been encouraging. He’d let himself be wheedled into at least staying in the room, his mind spinning, his body uncooperative. Locking himself in the bathroom to think of Dean in the locker room had helped, had made the stranger kneeling on the floor who looked and talked like that Dean less offputting, his body more interesting, his offer to be eye candy intriguing, his lips and tongue working the beer bottle stimulating. Castiel sighed, rubbing his eyes. Climaxing watching Dean’s mouth had snapped his feelings back into place instantly, like they’d been stretched thin and far away, but they’d come back and he had felt like himself again, wanted Dean again, even as his anger still simmered. Anger was better than indifference, he was certain of that.

 

He would have to tell Dean what had happened. Dean needed to know that this could happen, this was  _ important.  _ Castiel thought about what had happened next, grinning to himself, thinking about the  _ satisfaction  _ of fucking himself while Dean listened, denied his touch. That had been far more satisfying than an hour on his own would have been, and maybe they could find a mutually agreeable way to dabble in that feeling again, without Dean needing to lie to him first. They would need an infraction that didn’t affect his feelings towards Dean, then.

 

Castiel’s mind tumbled forward to hearing Dean crying out in anguish, opening the door to find the Dean he’d needed all along waiting for him, his submission so perfect he’d climaxed from the pain of his punishment; physical pain Castiel had not intended to inflict that Dean had borne without complaint. Castiel shuddered, his arousal flaring at the visual of Dean, kneeling, bound, listening to him coming through the door, crying out in anguish and pleasure. They were going to need to talk about that pain, too; Dean should have told him he was in pain.

 

Castiel’s train of thought was instantly derailed as Dean stepped out of the bathroom, his arousal palpable, his eyes flared and mouth slack, wearing one of his black work suits but that new green silk tie, the matching green of his eyes barely visible around his pupils. He flashed Castiel a look of pure heat and then stepped away, his stride slightly shorter and more cautious than usual, and Castiel’s breath caught as he watched Dean hiss in a breath, close his eyes to let the wave pass, and then lean gingerly over the table to collect and rack the balls. Castiel watched, rapt, as Dean bent over the table to break, gasping as the tension of bending over pressed his slacks into the toy inside him, his forehead beading in concentration as Castiel’s eyes darkened and his arousal surged, his breath hissing through his teeth.

 

Castiel watched, entranced, as Dean slowly chalked the pool cue, bent to his task, called a shot, his voice strained and half an octave lower than usual. Castiel took a slow sip of his drink, pressing his hand over his cock, watching Dean gasp as his eyes followed the motion and then flew to his face as Castiel raked his eyes unapologetically from Dean’s eyes, to his mouth, down his back, to linger on his ass, where their sinful secret was hidden. Dean started to pant a little, bending over to make another shot, missing, flustered, Castiel’s growl quiet, but carrying perfectly in the dead silent room.

 

“You should take off your jacket, Dean, I think it’s affecting your game.”

  
Dean nodded silently, eyes huge, shrugged out of his jacket to toss it over a chair, his steps mincing, his breath coming in gasps. His underarms were already soaked, and Castiel’s breath caught to see it, his lips parting in desire. He nodded for Dean to continue, and Dean bent over the table again, his breath heaving, to make two shots and miss the third, shaking his head in frustration, pressing a hand briefly on his cock, eyelashes fluttering, as Castiel observed, “I think you might do better without that tie, Dean. Bring it to me.”

 

Dean gasped, nodding, loosening his tie to bring it to Castiel, each step drawing a gasp as he slowly made his way to stand in front of Castiel, chest heaving, trembling hands holding his tie out. Castiel accepted it, brought a hand up to catch the back of Dean’s neck with his own tie, to pull his face inexorably closer, both ends of the tie in one hand, Dean bending down uncertainly and then with a moan of want as Castiel pulled his mouth in range, pressing his lips to Dean’s mouth for the first time this evening, for the first time in days.

 

Dean melted, his entire awareness focused on Castiel’s touch, as Castiel pushed his tongue roughly into Dean’s mouth, his hand snaking between Dean’s legs in the same motion to press sharply on the hard base of the toy through Dean’s trousers.

 

Dean  _ screamed _ into Castiel’s mouth, fucking his cock into Castiel’s bicep, and Castiel shoved his tongue as far as he could into Dean’s mouth for a couple seconds as he flexed his arm to fuck the toy into Dean in pulses, pulling away as Dean moaned desperately at the loss, to nod at the table. 

 

“Your game’s getting cold.”

 

Dean shuddered, his eyes glazed, his breath coming in gasps, rocking on his feet.  He nodded obediently and stepped slowly back to the table, utterly disheveled, Castiel’s urge to take him  _ right now  _ warring with his urge to get it just right.  _ Just a little further,  _ he promised himself, and took another slow sip of bourbon, undressing Dean with his eyes.

 

Dean’s hands were shaking too hard to have a chance at his next shot, and he set the cue down to unbutton his shirt without being prompted, shuddering as air hit his bare arms, laying the sweaty shirt over the chair with his suit coat and bending back over with a moan to try again. This time he made the shot but the ball popped right back out of the pocket, and Dean shook his head, leaning the cue on the table, upright from the floor this time, to shimmy out of his damp undershirt, the lights gleaming on the sweat beading on his chest as Castiel raked his eyes slowly over Dean’s chest, straying over the shoulders he was going to bite in a minute, loitering on the nipples he wanted to lick but would probably only be able to reach with a hand, lingering on the trail of curls disappearing behind Dean’s belt…

 

Castiel surged to his feet, pocketing the lubricant and crossing to stand beside Dean, frozen, staring at him, his chest heaving with each rapid breath.

 

“How about the purple stripe in the corner pocket, a carom shot off the solid green six there?” 

 

Dean’s eyes widened in surprise, his mouth falling open, as he looked from Castiel to the table and back again.

 

“Do you -  _ play?“ _

 

“I used to, but I much prefer watching you,” Castiel purred. “Well, go on…”

 

Dean bent over to the task, his eyes briefly fluttering as Castiel stepped even closer, his hand trailing gently down Dean’s back, cupping Dean’s ass cheek, pressing long fingers to the base of the toy to tap it with the fingernail of his index finger, sending shock waves of sparks through the fabric of Dean’s clothes and up his entire nervous system as his whole body shook with each gentle tap of Castiel’s fingertip.

 

Dean lined up the shot with trembling fingers, his entire body on fire, beads of sweat dripping down his spine. Castiel paused his tapping so Dean could make his shot, his other hand innocently reaching for his own crotch, unzipping his zipper with one smooth motion just as Dean’s elbow came forward, the sound making Dean’s shot fly wild, his gasp as Castiel rapped on the toy with his knuckle more like a shout.

 

Dean dropped the pool cue on the table with a clatter, his hands barely catching his fall, his arms splaying forward as Castiel’s weight landed on his back, hands reaching around Dean’s waist to work his belt buckle, teeth closing on the meat of Dean’s shoulder. Dean cried out, arching back into the pain, groaning, his body rigid, his head turning as Castiel’s tongue worked the shell of his ear, hot breath hissing over damp flesh as Castiel yanked Dean’s trousers and boxers down in one motion, freeing his own cock through his zipper to shove it roughly against the crack of Dean’s ass, slamming against the toy with the motion and earning a garbled scream from Dean. 

 

Castiel grinned ferally into Dean’s ear, liberated the lube from his pocket, arched away from Dean to squirt the rest of the bottle into his palm, groaning as he coated his cock with one hand, toying with Dean’s nipple with the other hand, guiding his cock between Dean’s ass cheeks and up his spine before slamming their bodies together, his lubed hand reaching around between Dean’s legs and the pool table, awkward but worth it as he ground against Dean’s ass, the heat of Dean’s flesh a slick, searing contrast to the rough scratch of Castiel’s wool suit as he slotted his body against the half naked man beneath him, wantonly splayed under Castiel’s formal attire, fully clothed with the exception of his open zipper.

 

Dean cried out as Castiel’s hand wrapped around his cock, Dean’s breath coming in hyperventilating half-gasps, rapid and shallow, as Castiel tightened his arms around Dean and started to  _ move.  _ His thrusts were slow, rippling undulations that slid his cock back and forth along the groove between Dean’s ass cheeks, landing each one with a solid impact on the slim toy impaling Dean that made Dean cry out in sharp grunts of pleasure each time, the effect on Castiel powerful and visceral. 

 

Castiel’s eyes fluttered shut, his mouth fell open against Dean’s shoulder, and his undulations slowed, Dean’s cries rippling throughout Castiel’s body as waves of heat, Castiel’s hands clutching Dean’s cock and chest more in desperation than anything else for a moment, all of this an impossible dream but feeling so real, Dean’s body solid and strong and blazing hot underneath him, Dean’s pleasure intoxicating, his groans the only thing that mattered anymore, Castiel’s hand resuming its expert motion stroking Dean’s cock as he slowed even further to lean forward, his fingertips gently caressing a nipple, his thrusts just rocking the toy back and forth now, his lips bending to Dean’s ear to whisper, his voice so gentle tears leapt to Dean’s eyes as the words registered and he obeyed immediately, screaming, the scalding heat of Castiel's answering pleasure flooding the hollow of his back, Castiel’s words reverberating over and over in his mind and coming to rest, incandescent, in his heart.

 

“ _ Come for me, my Love. _ ”

  
  


 


	78. Breakfast

 

Dean plopped down at the table across from Cas, his plate loaded down with scrambled eggs and so many strips of bacon that Castiel snorted into his coffee as he took a sip, hissed, and set the cup down to wait. Dean grinned at him over his fork, currently spearing a sausage link that Castiel hadn’t even noticed was available on the surprisingly robust motel breakfast buffet. Castiel’s eyes momentarily widened but he didn’t say a word, spearing a piece of melon from the chunks of fruit he’d selected for his own breakfast. He popped it in his mouth and chewed pensively, staring at - or possibly through - Dean’s plate.

 

Dean swallowed to remark, “I’m not always a pig, Cas, I’m starving. I didn’t have dinner last night,” before shoveling another giant forkful in, Sam-style, and chewing with pleasure.

 

“What? Why not?” Castiel asked, concerned. “I thought we were going to find dinner separately or I’d have ordered something in last night, after - “

 

Dean waved his fork, smiling softly. “We were, you’re fine. I was  _ nervous _ , Cas.” He took another huge bite, chewing with enthusiasm while Castiel studied him in growing dismay.

 

Castiel leaned forward, his voice quiet enough the other dozen or so diners in the motel lobby couldn’t possibly overhear. 

 

“Was it my letter?”

 

Dean shook his head. “Nope, that helped, actually. I guess it was just… not knowing...” he grinned slowly, his eyes twinkling, “y’know, what you might need to  _ conserve your energy  _ for.”

 

Castiel’s answering smile was soft, but still worried.

 

“I notice you still had plenty of energy this morning,” Dean teased through a cubic yard of bacon, his eyes bright, and Castiel’s smile widened a little, shifted to coy as his eyes dropped to his plate to study a pineapple chunk and spear it with a round white slice of banana.

 

He didn’t lift the fork to his mouth though, his eyes coming up to meet Dean’s again, searching. 

 

“Dean, I don’t know if now is a good time, but I need to tell you - something happened to me last night.”

 

Dean’s fork stilled, his face serious. “I’m listening. What happened, Cas?”

 

Castiel’s voice dropped to a whisper, and he leaned forward to continue. 

 

“When… when you - I know you were just being playful, Dean, but when you were, let’s say, planning ways to flout the spirit of the law while observing the letter - “ Dean winced apologetically, and Castiel nodded before continuing, “ - I felt - I felt  _ angry,  _ Dean, more angry than seems reasonable, and when I felt angry - “ he leaned even further forward to whisper, his eyes wide, “ _ my feelings for you changed, Dean. _ ”

 

“In what way, Cas?” Dean’s voice was eerily calm, all inflection carefully absent, and Castiel whispered again, his face terribly worried. 

 

“I still felt  _ love _ , I could tell when you begged me not to leave, Dean, but I - I - “ Castiel’s face was pained now, so worried Dean reached a gentle hand out to catch and hold Castiel’s hand, “ -  _ I didn’t  - I didn’t want to touch you anymore.” _

 

Dean’s cascade of pure, joyous laughter was distressing for Castiel, and he clutched the hand Dean was holding his with in dismay as several other motel patrons turned to look at them in surprise before turning back to mind their business, several with their own soft smiles.

 

“ _ Oh Sweetheart _ ,” Dean murmured, pulling Castiel’s unresisting hand across their table to press it to his lips, before letting go to gaze fondly at his harrumphing  _ boyfriend.  _ “When you’re mad at someone, it’s normal for your sex feelings towards them to drop off the planet.”

 

“Are you sure?” 

 

Castiel looked hopeful, but unconvinced, and Dean shook his head incredulously, grinning, as he dropped his fork to just grab half a dozen strips of bacon in his fingers to shove them in his mouth.

 

“I  _ promise,  _ Cas,” Dean grinned, mouth full. He swallowed, leaning forward. “I know why you were so mad Cas. I thought about it for hours after you fell asleep.”

 

“You do? Why? Wait,  _ hours?” _

 

“Dunno, maybe it only felt like hours. But Cas, I figured it out. I was  _ taking something from you that you didn’t want to give. _ ”

 

“ _ Oh my god _ .” 

 

Castiel’s eyes matched the round slices of banana on his plate, and Dean nodded at him solemnly, his voice barely above a whisper.

 

“I’m so sorry, Cas. It won’t happen again, you have my word.” 

 

Castiel looked torn, and he colored slightly, leaning forward conspiratorially to murmur across the table, “I  _ was  _ angry, and that was unpleasant for both of us, but I must confess that - Dean, I  _ very much enjoyed _ punishing you afterwards -  although I didn’t mean for you to be in physical pain, you should have told me about that - what are you grinning about?”

 

The flush on Dean’s cheeks was just hitting the tips of his ears by the time he found his voice, even his whisper husky. 

 

“ _ Cas. That was - So. Hot. _ ”

 

Castiel blinked slowly, his eyes falling to Dean’s mouth. He glanced at the wall clock and back to Dean’s face, his expression pained.

 

“We have to be in the car in thirteen minutes, but I still have the room key - “   
  


“ _ Go. _ ”

 

Castiel  _ went _ .

  
  


 


	79. Second Pool Night After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter release of my first book. It's getting real, and it's starting to hurt.  
> Thank you SO MUCH for coming with me on this ride. <3 <3 <3

 

Castiel took a long pull of the dark brew Dean slid his way and carefully pretended not to notice Dean surreptitiously watching his mouth as he swallowed. He lifted his eyes to meet Dean’s across the table, and the microexpression of warning and nearly imperceptible headshake he shot in Dean’s direction got a flash of guilt and an imperceptible nod in answer, before Dean looked down to study his own beer.

 

This was hard. There’d been no time to hold Dean after their last, frantic,  _ delicious _ moments together in the hotel room this morning. He’d held Dean’s hand in the car, but they hadn’t dared kiss goodbye when Castiel had pulled up beside Baby, gleaming in the morning sun on the street, and he’d squeezed Dean’s hand and reluctantly watched him go. 

 

Stepping into  _ Sugar Tonight  _ he could  _ feel  _ Dean’s need for the intimacy he’d been unable to provide this morning;  _ feel  _ Dean’s pain at not being able to melt into his arms. Castiel felt physical pain at the way Dean’s eyes had first lit up to see him and then his face had fallen at the reality of their situation, and at the stiff way Dean held himself as he carefully sat down beside Castiel a safe distance away. 

 

They’d agreed with a single shared glance - microexpressions of alarm and then smug agreement - that there was  _ no way _ Dean could play pool tonight, but sitting beside Dean without touching him was so difficult Castiel had to pull up a different chair, across the table from Dean rather than beside him, after returning from splashing a little cold water on his face in the men’s room. 

 

Jesse owed his family about a million quality hours, and Ash had a  _ date.  _ Besides the two of them, it was just Garth and Anna tonight, but only Anna had a laptop open at the table, and Dean set his beer down three quarters full to turn to her and whine plaintively, “Aren’t you guys  _ done  _ with the mobile site?”

 

Anna looked up to grin at Dean, her face preoccupied. 

 

“Yes, Dean, we’re done with the mobile push; you can have your friend back.” She winked at Dean as he tried super hard not to blush, then returned her glare to her laptop.

 

“I’ve been watching an uptick in hacking attempts though; for the last couple months someone has been trying their damndest to get into our database.”  Anna scowled at her screen then looked up at Dean again. “It started slow, nothing to raise more suspicion than usual, but they’ve really stepped it up the last couple weeks. They’re bouncing their IP all over the planet but I think I’ve narrowed it down to someplace in Nevada.”

 

Dean looked pensive as Castiel slid over beside Anna to look at her screen with her.

 

“I had three different ‘clients’ call for password resets this week that didn’t know the answers to their secret questions,” Garth volunteered, and Anna glanced up sharply.

 

“Has that happened before?”

 

“No, I mean, not three in one week. There’s been one every couple weeks for a couple months now, I just tell them to call back when they find the post-it note or whatever they wrote it down on, or worst case to come in with their ID in person since our offices are pretty close to most of our clients…  _ what? _ ”

 

Anna huffed an exasperated noise, trying to control the irritation on her face. “I wish you had told me that sooner, Garth, but that’s probably on all of us for making you cover the customer line the whole mobile push…” She scowled at her screen again while Garth quietly protested to no one in particular, “Hey, it’s not my fault I’m dumb as a rock if I don’t get my beauty sleep…”

 

“When did this start?” Dean asked, grimacing.

 

“Oh, ‘bout the beginning of April,” Anna answered without looking up, “Why?”

 

“I met someone in Vegas right around then. He acted like he was interested in becoming a client, had me go through the whole demo, then he said he was a headhunter, gave me his card…” Dean looked uncomfortable as everyone at the table looked at him.

 

“And?” Anna prompted, and Dean shrugged.

 

“And, nothing. I let him buy me a few drinks - and  _ nothing  _ else - and I didn’t think about it again until just now. Because the Monday when I got back there was an email in my inbox from him that McAfee flagged as having a suspicious attachment.”

 

You didn’t  _ click  _ the suspicious attachment, did you Dean - “

 

“Of  _ course _ not, Anna, I might’ve been born at night, but it wasn’t  _ last  _ night.  I think it’s still quarantined...”

 

“Give me your laptop,  _ stat! _ ”  Anna’s eyes were bright with interest, and Dean leapt to his feet, nodding his delight over his shoulder in parting when Castiel asked, “Was that one of Bobby’s?”

 

“Was  _ what _ one of Bobby’s?” Garth asked, and Castiel grinned at him. 

 

“The adage. Dean’s uncle Bobby seems to be a font of colloquial wisdom.”

 

Dean was already back with his laptop bag slung over his shoulder, and he handed it to Anna while grinning and chiming in, “Hell yeah he is. Uncle Bobby has a saying for everything.”

 

“When did you meet Dean’s uncle? Wait, Bob’s your  _ actual  _ uncle?” Garth asked, grinning, and Dean laughed and shook his head. 

 

“Cas has only heard me repeating stuff. And Bobby’s not really my uncle, but you’ll meet him, Cas, for sure.” Dean was gazing at Castiel now, his face so openly fond Castiel’s eyes widened in warning just as Anna elbowed Dean in the ribs.

 

“Dean. Password.”

 

Dean winced and leaned down to whisper in her ear, and Anna snorted as she typed it in.

 

“ _ Men.  _ I’m in. As you were.”

 

Dean specifically did not return to mooning at his  _ boyfriend,  _ draining his beer and stepping back to the bar to order another round. He glanced at Cas but Cas put his hand over his glass in a no thank you gesture, so Dean bought one for Garth instead, just to cover his bases, sliding it Garth’s way only for Garth to exclaim, “Dean, I can’t have  _ two  _ beers and still drive myself home!”

 

Even Anna looked up to join Cas and Dean in smirking at Garth in open amusement, and Garth shrugged good-humoredly. “What? I can’t help my metabolism!”

 

“Or your bantamweight boxing class, I guess,” Dean smirked, sliding the second beer back his own way and staring at it dolefully. He turned puppy eyes on Castiel and was rewarded with an eyeroll and a hand reaching out to accept the beer, their knuckles brushing as he did so.

 

Dean  _ almost _ controlled his intake of breath at the sparks racing up his arm, and Castiel flashed him an apology glance as he pulled the beer back his own way, taking a long pull to cover his own racing heart.   _ Jesus. This is hard. _

 

Garth looked at the clock and sighed and stretched his lanky frame and wished them goodnight, and only once he was out the front door did Dean dare slide his chair closer to Castiel’s, until their thighs were touching, and he could reach under the table to rest his hand on Castiel’s knee.

 

“Listen, Cas,” he murmured, “Sam and I need to move family dinner tomorrow to Saturday instead.”

 

Castiel’s attention abruptly pulled away from staring at the table as though if he concentrated hard enough he could see Dean’s hand on his knee through it, and he stared at Dean in dismay.

 

“I won’t see you tomorrow?” Castiel looked like he could cry at the news, but Dean’s hand squeezed his knee reassuringly under the table as he shook his head.

 

“You  _ will _ , Cas, you’ll see  _ just  _ me,” he promised quietly, the implications crackling invitingly in the air between them, “But Manuel has decreed we’re having a basketball tournament in the off-season, and that starts this weekend, and it’s kind of a big deal. I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t show up. But if you’re available for the next six weeks or so, and want to play?” His face was so hopeful Castiel didn’t even hesitate before nodding yes, no matter what it meant, he would give it.

 

“ _ Sweet. _ ” Dean’s smile was so delighted Castiel’s anxiety about the million unknown details he’d just committed to melted away and he smiled back, the sparks from the hand on his knee settling into warm, pulsing  _ comfort _ instead of the tension they had been moments before. He dared to reach a hand under the table to cover Dean’s, and admired the way Dean’s eyelashes almost didn’t flutter in pleasure.

 

“Gentlemen.” They startled guiltily, their hands pulling apart under the table, looking up to see what Anna wanted.

 

“I need to keep this overnight, Dean. Is that okay? - and I need to get this to Ash first thing tomorrow morning, that epic nerd’s been building a reverse compiler for  _ fun _ , I think he might be able to get further than I can on this dot exe file. But I want to poke at this some more. I’ll get it back to you tomorrow morning?”

 

“You go right ahead, Ma’am,” Dean nodded agreeably. “I don’t need it until noon anyway, for my one-o’clock.”

 

“Alright, I  _ will _ ,” Anna smirked, her eyebrows rising slightly as she looked up from the laptop screen and observed their current seating arrangement, Dean somehow entirely inside Castiel’s airspace, their bodies pressed together from shoulder to thigh. Her volume dropped, humor but also an undercurrent of urgency coloring her voice, “You two wanna leave room for Jesus, or what?”

 

Castiel startled, pulling away from Dean to leave space between them, but Dean just pouted, flowing across the distance again, and Castiel had to raise an eyebrow to get Dean to sit back down in his own chair, six inches of cold air between them as Anna returned her attention to the laptop in front of her.

 

“What would you like to eat for dinner tomorrow, Dean?” Castiel asked, to distract him, and Dean shrugged, his eyes downcast.

 

“You.”

 

“ _ Dean,”  _ Castiel hissed, and Dean looked up then, the mischief in his eyes making his pout more adorable than it had any right to be. “Dean, we are  _ protecting Sam’s future.” _

 

Dean nodded immediately, all trace of humor gone from his face. 

 

“ _ Shit _ , you’re right. Sorry, Cas. Surprise me, I’ll make whatever you want if you have the ingredients ready. Something easy, since I’m hoping - I was hoping we could do dinner at Sam and my place on Saturday, since you’ll already be there? I don’t know how long the games will go Saturday, but there’s probably going to be  _ lots  _ of drinking, and the afterparty is just as important - “

  
“I’ll surprise you,” Castiel nodded firmly, “and I am yours.” He smiled softly as Dean’s face bloomed into soft pleasure, adding quietly, “For as long as you need me on Saturday, and for as long as you’ll have me after that. Alright?”

 

Dean nodded, looking  _ so  _ much like he wanted to be kissed Castiel had to break the eye contact to breathe, while Dean glanced over his head at the wall clock and cursed quietly to himself.

 

“ _ Shit.  _ I gotta run, Cas, I have to hit a grocery store on my way to pick up Sam tonight, so I can get my wings marinating tomorrow night for Saturday before I head out your way. I don’t think I can get there before eight tomorrow, but…”  Dean’s eyes were sparkling, his face hopeful, and Castiel’s head tilted as he studied him.

 

“Yes, Dean?”

 

“Will you - can you… save something for me tomorrow? Maybe skip your morning… constitutional?”

 

“I’ll skip tonight’s, too, if you ask  _ very  _ nicely.”

 

Dean’s face slammed into carefully impassive, but his eyes fell to Castiel’s mouth all the same.

 

“No, I can’t ask that,” he whispered, flushing hotly, “I - I’m going to take the world’s longest shower tonight thinking about last night, and I’d rather imagine you doing the same.”

 

Castiel eyes closed in extremely slow motion, and he took a long, slow breath before opening them just as slowly, long fingers curling around to grip his empty beer glass in a way that Dean had to look away from immediately, eyes wide and nostrils flaring as he sucked in his own long, slow breath.

 

“Now I think I need a shower  _ before _ I start cooking,” Dean commented wryly, his eyes dancing as he finally managed to meet Castiel’s gaze again.

 

Castiel barked a laugh, his eyes crinkling in a way that made Dean fight to memorize this look on his face forever.

 

“Go on then,” Castiel whispered, only iron-clad discipline keeping his hand from caressing the longing from Dean’s face. He leaned forward instead, to whisper into Dean’s ear, “Smile if you love me back,” to lean back and watch Dean’s face light up in bashful delight.

 

“You two are ridiculous,” Anna said, and they startled again, looking across the table at her in surprise. “No, no, don’t mind me,” she clucked, shaking her head, “I’ve just never seen anything more adorable than you two being… subtle.”

 

Dean stuck his tongue out at her, and Castiel grinned ruefully, watching him.

 

“I failed to meet Dean’s needs this morning,” Castiel admitted softly, and Dean turned to stare at him in disbelief, eyebrows raised.

 

“How do you figure? At  _ my _ count - “   
  


“ _ Guys! _ TMI!” Anna laughed, but Castiel was staring into Dean’s eyes, shaking his head slowly.

 

“Not that.” 

 

Castiel’s face was so fond tears leapt to Anna’s eyes watching him as he elaborated softly, his voice suddenly worried, his eyes asking Dean, now, if this might have been something “just for us.” 

 

“I didn’t - we didn’t have time for me to hold you... after, and I’m sorry.”

 

Dean’s gaze remained steady, no hint of embarrassment or reproach for Castiel’s divulgence in Anna’s presence troubling his countenance, as his perfect lips curved into an absolutely gorgeous smile, bubblegum pink stretched taut over dazzling white, eyes sparkling with mirth and mischief.

 

“ _ Worth _ it.”

 

“Oh get OUT of here, you two,” Anna scolded, and Dean grinned and obeyed, reaching out to squeeze Castiel’s shoulder in parting before spinning on his heel and striding rapidly out of the bar.

 

Castiel  _ and  _ Anna watched him go, turning to smile at each other once he was out of sight.

 

“Good Goddess is he dreamy,” Anna sighed, and Castiel grinned at her, all teeth and gums and joy.

 

“Yes, yes he is. I  _ still _ can’t believe this is real, Anna.”

 

“If you need someone to pinch you, I’m your girl.”

 

Castiel snorted, and held out his hand for Anna to playfully pinch. She worked a series of tiny fingernail pinches up his arm, giggling, and Castiel finally swatted her hand away, laughing.

 

“Go home, Cas.”

 

“ _ You  _ go home.”

 

“I’m  _ going _ .” Anna was coiling cables, shoving two laptops into two separate bags, and Castiel leapt to his feet to gallantly carry Dean’s laptop bag for her.

 

“My house is so  _ empty, _ ” Castiel sighed, and Anna punched him lightly.

 

“Yeah well, I heard you need to take a solidarity shower, so that oughtta fill out your evening nicely.”

 

Castiel’s flush was a thing of beauty, mortification creeping up his neck and face and reaching even the tips of his ears. 

 

“You  _ heard  _ that?” he gulped.

 

“Dude. I’ve been  _ trying _ to _ tell  _ you. You two need to step up your subtlety game.”

 

“Jesus. Sorry.” Castiel’s eyes were wide in horror, and Anna smiled up at him, shouldering her own laptop and grabbing her jacket from the back of her chair.

 

“Cas.  _ I _ don’t care, you two are seriously the cutest. But  _ be. Careful. _ ”

 

Castiel followed her out to her toy car, gently depositing the laptop in the passenger seat for her.

 

“I will be more careful,” he vowed, and Anna threw her arms around him to squeeze just as tight as she could.

 

“I am so happy for you,” she whispered. “I just want you to be happy and  _ safe. _ ”

 

“I know,” Castiel whispered back, hugging her not nearly as tightly as he could, but tight enough that she squeaked, breathless. “I love you, Anna.”

 

“I love you too, Cas,” she sighed, “even if you’re replacing me with Dean.”

 

“I would never.” Castiel’s face was terribly fond as he gazed down at her, but also slightly guilty.

 

“It’s fine, I get it. I just can’t...  _ fill _ ... the same  _ needs _ he can for you, Cas.”

 

“Oh My God.” Castiel let go of Anna like she was contagious, and she cackled with glee as she climbed into her tiny car and did up her seat belt, sticking her tongue out at Castiel’s glare through her window as she rolled it down.

 

“Your boy better not have infected us all with a virus, Cas.”

 

“He didn’t click it!” Castiel protested.

 

“Yeah, well, we’ll know soon enough,” Anna grinned, revving her engine.  It made almost no perceptible difference, and Castiel laughed out loud.

 

“Forty-one miles per gallon, Cas. What does your beast get?”

 

Castiel blew out a breath, stymied.

 

“Well?”

 

Castiel’s lips scrunched up into an invisible line, hiding a guilty smile.

 

“That’s what I thought,” Anna retorted, smug. “Good night, Cas.

 

“Good night, Anna.”

  
  


***

 

Castiel was halfway home, mulling over his evening, before Dean’s smiling lips casually dropping the phrase, “family dinner,” finally registered, and he had to pull over on the shoulder to find takeout napkins in his glove compartment and sob for a while, before he had any chance of seeing well enough to finish driving home.

  
  
  
  



	80. Friday Night Delight

 

Dean burst through Castiel’s front door without knocking, shutting it behind himself with a satisfying click and dropping his coat on the floor as Castiel glanced up from chopping vegetables, startled. Castiel dropped his knife, wiping his hands on his apron as Dean crossed the kitchen in long strides, his hands reaching for Castiel’s face, to crush plush lips against Castiel’s mouth, his tongue searching, his breath already hitching, Castiel making a small noise of surprise but no complaint, his hips already pressing against Dean’s, his ever-simmering arousal already leaping to life to answer Dean’s need, Castiel’s thigh grinding against Dean’s erection.

 

Dean’s questing fingers untied the apron from behind Castiel’s waist, tugging it over Castiel’s head, and Castiel lifted his arms to help, moaning his surging urgency as Dean peeled Castiel’s tee shirt up next, getting it halfway off and letting Cas finish the job as Dean dove into his bare chest, licking a long stripe up his stomach and chest to taste him, moaning his appreciation, grazing teeth over a nipple to bite harshly and then lick soothing flat tongue strokes, Castiel gasping in startled pleasure. 

 

Dean was relentless, his fingers already working Castiel’s belt buckle as Castiel gave way, panting, Dean’s mouth licking and sucking and biting, hard, in no pattern that Castiel’s brain could decipher or anticipate or defend against, his logic centers short-circuited by the contrasting sensations, sparks of pleasure blowing out all his resistors in waves up and down his motherboard.

 

Dean had Cas’s belt undone and was peeling his jeans down before Castiel knew what was happening, had Castiel’s entire cock swallowed down his throat, his hands gripping Castiel’s ass, before Castiel even realized his briefs were down. Castiel’s garbled cry of surprised pleasure brought fierce joy to Dean’s face as he slid his mouth back up to enjoy Castiel’s shocked face for a second, his eyes very bright, before sinking back down on Cas’s cock, short, rapid strokes deep in his throat, at an urgent pace Cas had no chance of lasting against, no chance of forming conscious thought through, his pleasure mounting fast and sudden, as Dean tore his orgasm from him with an astonished shout.

 

Castiel gasped and panted, his hands desperately bracing himself on the counter as his knees buckled, the visual of Dean’s  _ gorgeous _ mouth slipping up off his cock filling his entire world, as Dean surged to his feet to lick and bite his way back up Castiel’s stomach and chest and shoulder, diving for his mouth to growl and lick his way hungrily inside, sucking on Castiel’s tongue almost the same way he’d just sucked his cock, Dean’s erection pressing insistently against Castiel’s thigh again as he shoved Cas against the counter to grind against him.

 

Dean’s hunger did not seem to have any interest in the salad Castiel had been preparing, so Castiel tugged his jeans up far enough so he could theoretically walk, reluctantly breaking the kiss to tilt his head towards the living room, a question on his face. Dean nodding eagerly and turned on his heel, stripping his shirt off as he strode rapidly through the living room and disappeared up the stairs, taking them two at a time. By the time Castiel was closing the bedroom door behind himself, Dean was stepping out of his jeans, turning to cage Cas in his arms, shoving him against the door to sink his teeth into the muscle of Cas’s neck, down low, where a collar would hide.

 

Castiel made a noise of protest, and Dean stopped immediately to check his face, but Cas was just looking towards the bed and Dean allowed it, grinning like a wolf and letting Cas escape the circle of his arms to pull his jeans and briefs off and flow onto his bed, his body lithe and powerful, his cock ready to go again, Dean’s mouth already drooling in anticipation.

 

Dean slipped out of his boxers and crossed to Castiel’s dresser without a word, returning to climb over Castiel with supplies gripped in his fist.

 

“May I?” Dean breathed, the first words he’d spoken tonight, and Castiel nodded, eyes wide.

 

“Anything,” he murmured, his voice rough, and Dean lost no time in cracking open the bottle of lubricant.  He didn’t roll the condom over his cock though, he rolled it over two fingers, and Castiel didn’t understand what was happening until Dean was pressing those lubed fingers into his ass, his lips and tongue eagerly swallowing Castiel’s cock down again, his throat coaxing gasping moans from Cas now, Castiel’s reawakened erection straining as Dean curled his fingers up and in, twisting and flexing his fingers apart as he fucked against that sweet spot, his free forearm  _ firmly  _ pinning Castiel’s hips to the bed, braced across taut abs, Dean’s clutching fingers pressing white marks into Castiel’s obliques as Castiel gasped and moaned and bucked and  _ screamed  _ another orgasm into Dean’s throat.

 

Dean slipped his lips off Castiel’s cock again, smoothly inverting and tossing the condom from his fingers into the nearby wastebasket, his face still desperately hungry but now he was rolling a fresh condom over his cock, slathering on lube, licking and biting and climbing up Castiel’s body to kiss him, Castiel’s eyelids fluttering as he eagerly accepted Dean’s tongue and then flying open as Dean’s cock pressed inexorably inside him, smoothly easing into the muscle Dean’s fingers had just relaxed in one long, slow, slide, hitting  _ just  _ the right angle to have Castiel groaning and shuddering with just a couple thrusts, Cas’s spent cock valiantly shivering and twitching against the heat of Dean’s stomach.

 

Dean broke the kiss to lift himself on both elbows so he could stare at Castiel’s face. Dean’s face flickered between fierce desire and pleasure as he watched Castiel’s mouth, each moaning breath heaving over Cas’s luscious tongue and delicious lips, Dean’s breath huffing past his parted lips in gasps, in time with the thrust of his hips, his forehead beading in sweat; but when Dean’s gaze finally tore away from Castiel’s mouth to make his way up to Castiel’s eyes, the tears he found there stilled his hips, quirked his forehead in concern, his eyes searching.

 

Castiel blinked slowly, bucked his hips once against Dean in silent entreaty, and Dean groaned and nodded, shifting his weight to reach for Castiel’s hands, first his right, to interlock their fingers and move Castiel’s arm beside his head, pinning it to the mattress, then his left, in Dean’s slick right hand, grinning down at Cas as he pinned that one to the mattress, too, on the other side of Cas’s head.  Dean flexed his arms experimentally against the resistance of Castiel’s grip, Cas tensed in return, and Dean’s face rippled with pleasure as he undulated his torso experimentally, Castiel’s forearms easily bearing his weight.

 

Castiel groaned in answering pleasure, and Dean leaned into him, thrusting slow, his weight pinning Cas to the mattress as Cas’s arms and hips answered his thrusts in mirrored undulations, grinding against him slow, tears steadily slipping out of the corners of Castiel’s eyes, down the sides of his temples, and into his pillow without a single hint of self-consciousness about it, his gaze open and trusting and the worship on his face springing answering emotion to Dean’s eyes as his thrusts slowed, savoring, staring into Castiel’s eyes until he finally succumbed with a soft moan that sounded like surprise. 

 

Dean’s eyes flared wide in wonder, hands clutching for dear life as his trembling arms gave way under the wave, and Castiel caught him, holding him up, limp and gasping, so Cas could keep watching his face.

 

As Dean’s contractions slowed and his eyes fluttered shut, Castiel lowered him to rest on his chest, twisting a hand free from Dean’s limp grip to pet Dean’s hair and cradle him against his shoulder, nuzzling his neck and planting soft kisses against his ear until Dean sighed and lifted his head far enough to be able to stare at Cas, the tenderness on Dean’s face making Castiel's chest ache and his breath escape in a shuddering moan as he strained his head up from his pillow, desperate to be kissed, Dean’s lips instantly coming down to meet him; kissing soft answers to Castiel’s need. 

 

They both felt Dean starting to slip out, and Dean snorted as he pried their bodies apart to deal with it, reaching for the wet wipes while Cas stayed out of it, thighs lowering to the bed, hands insouciantly interlocking behind his head, elbows out, eyes closed, letting Dean clean up his own mess; Castiel's squeak of surprise as Dean’s freshly lubricated fingers replaced his cock and his freshly lubricated hand wrapped around Castiel’s neglected erection pulling a grin of delighted mischief to Dean’s lips.

 

Dean didn’t go slow this time, not even a little bit, the eager twist of his wrist and thrust of his bare fingers greedy, all tenderness swept aside by pure, carnal lust as he added a third finger, watching Cas writhe and pant and arch into his touch, no time at all passing before Castiel was screaming into his own fists, Dean watching his face intently as he came. 

 

This time after Dean did his wet-wipe work he left Cas alone, panting on the bed for a minute, disappearing to do a little hygiene maintenance on his own before reappearing to climb up Castiel’s body, to caress his hair and the angles of his jaw and to press his lips to Castiel’s mouth again, Dean’s kisses  _ still  _ hungry, somehow.

 

Castiel kissed back gladly, passionately, tenderly, meeting every press of Dean’s lips in kind until Dean pulled away, breathless, to stare down at Castiel’s face, his brow furrowed in concentration.

 

“Yes, Dean?” Castiel breathed gently.

 

“Cas, I - I want to _ give _ you this feeling, but -” 

 

Dean hesitated; this was hard to say.  

 

“I’m scared, Cas.”

 

“What? Why?  What feeling, Dean?” Castiel was puzzled, soft blue gaze so trusting Dean’s heart ached, staring down at him.

 

“The - the way you make me  _ feel  _ when - “ Dean’s voice fell to a whisper, his voice husky. “ _ When I’m inside you, Cas. _ ”

 

Castiel’s eyes widened in understanding, and his hand reached up to pet Dean’s face soothingly.

 

“I’ve thought about that, Dean, a  _ lot _ , recently _ ,  _ and... you never have to, if you don’t want to. Lots of guys don’t bottom. You’ve already made me more happy than I’ve ever felt in my life; it’s okay if that doesn’t happen for us.” Castiel smiled reassuringly up at Dean, his eyes soft, watching Dean’s face work through a parade of emotions before landing on distress.

 

“I  _ want  _ to, Cas,” he whispered, “but - not  _ Castiel,  _ okay? Not the first time - what is it, Cas? Did I say something wrong?”

 

Castiel’s eyes were welling again, his lip trembling, but he shook his head vehemently.

 

“I don’t want him to have you either, _ ”  _ Castiel whispered, his voice shaking, “not  _ first _ , not before  _ me _ , not  _ yet _ . I didn’t know how to tell you, after - after he already made you a promise.”

 

Dean nodded, gulping. “So, um, yeah, I’d rather save that date with, uh, him and Baby for later, and do something else with you first, if that’s okay.” Dean’s face was torn, a thought still forming, and Castiel waited patiently while he figured it out.

 

“But - I  _ do  _ want to drive him out to the desert, Cas, I really, really do. Just... not yet.”

 

Castiel beamed up at Dean, his face terribly fond. “Of course, Dean. I want that too. Just... not yet.”

 

They smiled at each other for an entire cretaceous period before Dean’s stomach growled, and Castiel laughed.

 

“Dinner first, or would you like another orgasm and then dinner? I feel like you’ve been terribly generous with the orgasms tonight - “

 

Dean laughed for sheer joy, flopping onto his back and letting it just bubble up out of him until Castiel was self-conscious, huffing, “ _ What? - “  _ but Dean’s eyes opened to turn his head Cas’s way, his face so fond Castiel was already mollified before Dean even answered.

 

“Dinner first, because I’m starving,  _ and _ because I need to shower before I can ask for what I want.” 

 

Dean shook his head firmly at Castiel’s look of protest, his eyes sparkling. “Cas, you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I appreciate you more than I can possibly find the words to tell you and that is why _ ,  _ no matter  _ how  _ you look at me, condom or not, I will  _ never _ ,  _ ever  _ let you go ass to mouth.”

 

Castiel’s bark of laughter was pure and bright, his radiant smile utterly gorgeous as he leapt out of bed to offer Dean a hand up, reaching for his discarded briefs and pulling them on before turning to Dean, catching his eye, and answering, his eyes dancing.

 

“I love you, too, Dean.”

  
  


***

  
  


Castiel stared at Dean’s face in the soft glow of the candle he’d insisted on lighting and placing in the middle of the table for dinner. Dean had harrumphed and rolled his eyes but Castiel had argued, “You  _ said  _ surprise you, and you can’t tell me you don’t  _ like  _ fire,” and Dean had ceded the point, and now he was staring back, the soft light reflecting in his eyes and caressing the  _ perfect _ angles of his jaw, and if his expression was any indication, not looking too bad on Castiel, either.

 

Castiel glanced at Dean’s plate, almost empty now, even though he’d been served a salad.

 

“Did you like the salmon?” Castiel asked softly, and Dean nodded, blinking slowly.

 

“I like just about anything fried in butter, Cas, but yes, it’s delicious, thank you.” 

 

Dean glanced down at his plate, shoveled the rest of his dinner into his mouth, then glanced back up at Castiel’s face, his expression dreamy as he chewed and swallowed.

 

“I’m gonna jump through the shower now, Cas, if that’s okay?” 

 

The question hung in the air while Castiel glanced down at his half-empty plate and then back up at Dean, a soft smile on his lips.

 

“Shit, I’m sorry, Cas, that’s rude of me. I should wait until you’re finished.” 

 

Dean looked ashamed, but Castiel grinned at him.

 

“I appreciate that you’re eager and that time is of the essence this evening, Dean, so tonight, I’ll allow it.” 

 

Castiel smiled, his smile widening at the way Dean’s eyes flared in surprise, and… interest.

 

“Yes, Dean?”

 

Dean fidgeted a little, and Castiel waited patiently, spearing a chunk of salmon and chewing pensively while he watched Dean’s face.

 

“Can you… will you bring the candle?” Dean’s face traveled from embarrassment to hope and back again as Castiel nodded slowly, his face carefully not smug.

 

“I surely will. Did you read the instructions I sent home with you this week?”

 

Dean nodded, flushing now, biting his lip and shrinking into himself in embarrassment.

 

“Dean,  _ you _ asked  _ me _ about my hygiene regimen.” Castiel’s face was stern, but his voice was gentle, and he waited until Dean met his eyes sheepishly before continuing.

 

“We are creatures of light, Dean. Sparks trapped in meat, hurtling through space on a giant rock.  _ Sentient meat _ , Dean, alive for an instant before we burn up these imperfect casings and return to the void. Yes, there are inconvenient things we must do to work around the  _ ridiculous _ design of the meat. If you could see your way clear to not letting your squeamishness keep me from giving you as much pleasure as is humanly possible, I would greatly appreciate it.” 

 

Castiel smirked at Dean’s slack-jawed gaping before continuing mildly, “If you cannot, I will buy more sheets and towels and condoms and pleasure you regardless, but it would be much more pleasant for both of us if you would take certain steps. I bought you the equipment; it’s under the sink.”

 

Castiel waited calmly for Dean’s answer, which was a determined nod and a wan smile.

 

“When you put it like  _ that,  _ Cas, I can’t really argue.”

 

“Excellent, thank you. I will meet you upstairs in half an hour or so, after I finish up dinner and start the dishwasher, and attend to my own hygiene of course.”  

 

Dean was already halfway across the kitchen before freezing in mid-step as Castiel’s tone arrested him.

 

“I expect to find you in my bed, showered, naked, and  _ fully  _ aroused, Dean. Do not orgasm before I arrive, but once you start, do not stop touching yourself unless you are about to orgasm.”

 

Dean’s eyes were twin moons as he gulped and nodded, his eyes widening further as Castiel raised an eyebrow.

 

“Y-yes  _ Sir _ ,” Dean stammered, and Castiel nodded serenely.

 

“Good Boy. Off you go.”

 

Dean almost fell over himself scrambling to obey, and Castiel nodded his satisfaction before leaning forward to blow out the candle. 

 

No sense in wasting it.

  
  


***

 

Dean shifted his position on Castiel’s bed, trying to rally his mood. The cleansing process had been uncomfortable, and frankly disgusting, and the only way he got through it was worrying about not wanting to let Cas down. Cas had apparently been doing this for him every time he had advance notice they’d be seeing each other -  every time since that first Friday night - which explained a lot, really. Why he could, for example, give Cas two fingers without a condom barely an hour ago without worrying about too much unpleasant aftermath, something he was one hundred percent positive Cas could not do to him. 

  
Well, maybe until now. Dean had never felt so clean in his life, pink and scrubbed and a little sore, even, but lying on Cas’s clean white sheets with his half-hard dick in his hand, he had also never felt so embarrassed or uncomfortable in his own skin. When he’d shyly asked what Cas was doing differently since the first time, he had  _ not _ anticipated Castiel’s matter of fact answer, nor Cas’s gentle suggestion he might consider taking up the habit, if he was interested in taking a little more than two fingers.

 

Which, he reluctantly admitted to himself, alone in Castiel’s bedroom, as his dick perked up and his spine tickled with a frisson of arousal at the idea, he definitely was. With  _ Cas  _ first, he promised himself, heading off the adrenaline ready to pool in the pit of his stomach. His body half-cooperated, his nerves still jangling with fear, but his mind flashed to Castiel on top of him on the pool table two nights ago, and he shuddered and moaned as he shut his eyes and gripped his suddenly rock-hard cock tightly, his current embarrassment forgotten in the flood of sense memory that filled his awareness, the entire highlight reel on standby since his hour-long shower last night.

 

_ Castiel’s weight, landing on his back.  _

 

Dean hissed and let his hand glide over his cock, loose and dry, because he wasn’t sure Cas had meant for him to use lube and he was desperately hoping Cas would put his mouth on him tonight. 

 

_ Castiel’s mouth, panting in his ear, the wool of his suit scratching against Dean’s back as the searing heat of his cock pressed against the crack of Dean’s ass.  _

 

Dean’s breath hitched and he stilled his hand for a moment for safety.

 

_ Castiel’s hand, wrapping around his cock, every nerve ending in his body screaming as Castiel slammed against the toy in his ass, each impact practically making him see sparks it felt so good.  _

 

Dean’s hand tightened, his back arching, the slight discomfort in his ass from his earlier ministrations pulsing as pleasure now, and he held perfectly still, fighting his body, as his mind gently caressed the words still glowing in his chest and he heard them again, soft and gentle, the  _ love  _ in Castiel’s voice springing tears to his eyes as he let go of his cock to bury his face in his hands to stifle a sob.

 

_ “Come for me, my Love.” _

 

There was a gentle knock at the door and Dean startled; he hadn’t heard Castiel’s footsteps. He guiltily wrapped his hand around his cock, wiping his eyes with the other, and croaked, “Come in.”

 

Castiel pushed the door open with one hand, his other hand balancing three lit candles in jars on his open palm. He took in Dean’s state at a glance and crossed rapidly to his side, setting the candles down on the nightstand so he could climb into bed beside Dean, shoes and all, to wrap his arms around him, pulling Dean’s face into his chest and cradling him as Dean melted into his arms, fighting tears.

 

As Dean’s breathing evened out, Castiel lifted his torso to look at Dean’s face.

 

“Talk to me, Dean. Did something go wrong?”

 

Dean shook his head forlornly, sucking in a deep breath.

 

“I don’t think so. I mean, it sucked, but I think it went as well as could be expected...”

 

Dean made a face and Castiel grinned ruefully down at him, lifting one hand to caress the side of Dean’s face.

 

“Yes. It is certainly not the most pleasant of tasks, but I had intended to make it worth your while tonight.” 

 

Dean’s microexpression of interest smoothed away to nonchalance almost immediately and Castiel snorted, shaking his head slightly. 

 

“If that wasn’t it, then tell me why I arrived here to find you pretending to masturbate and fighting tears.”

 

Dean took a deep, quavering breath, and shrugged. 

 

“I couldn’t get into the mood after - uh - _ that _ \- “

 

Castiel looked crestfallen, but Dean held up a hand.

 

“ - so I was thinking about Wednesday night - which was working  _ just fine -  _ before I got emotional. Sue me.”

 

Castiel’s eyebrow lifted of its own accord and Dean’s defensiveness deflated instantly.

 

“ _ I’m sorry, Sir _ ,” he whispered.

 

“Just Cas right now, I think,” Castiel observed quietly, and Dean gulped and nodded.

 

“None of that requires an apology, Dean.” Castiel remarked evenly, “You are perfectly within your rights to no longer be in the mood at any time, or to think of us spending time together, or to be emotional. I have never experienced more emotion in a shorter time span than these last two weeks in my  _ life.” _

 

_ “Right?”  _ Dean whispered, but Castiel wasn’t done talking.

 

“I  _ do  _ take issue with your lashing out under the assumption I will be upset with you for having feelings, Dean. I would  _ never _ . I  _ encourage  _ you to have feelings. I will be honored when you share them with me, and I will respect your privacy when you do not. I only pressed you this time because I was worried something I should or shouldn’t have done was causing you distress.”

 

Dean nodded seriously. 

 

“Okay, Cas. I  _ am  _ sorry though, you didn’t deserve that. I worried you so of course you had to ask. I’m just kind of fucked up right now from sticking a hose up my ass, I guess.”

 

Castiel grinned at him, his smirk pulling an answering smirk to Dean’s face as he waited to hear what Cas was gonna say.

 

“Care to let me stick anything else up there?”

 

Dean snorted, flushing furiously. He couldn’t find words but his face did plenty of talking, and Castiel leapt to his feet, slipping out of his shirt and sneakers and jeans in seconds flat, down to just briefs in record time. Dean gaped, impressed, and Castiel reached out for Dean’s hand, clasped it and stroked a thumb across the back of it when Dean held it out.

 

“Would you like Cas, or Castiel?”

 

Dean hesitated, and Castiel waited patiently until he found his words.

 

“Castiel,” Dean whispered, “Please,  _ Sir. _ ”

 

Castiel shut his eyes, hissing in a breath, and Dean watched him  _ change, _ watched his bearing shift, his shoulders and spine straighten, his cock leap to life behind soft cotton, and his lips flatten into a hard line.

 

“I wish to give you pleasure tonight, Dean,” Castiel growled, his eyes snapping open and fixing themselves on Dean’s face. “You told me once that anything at all I want to do to you, I have your extremely enthusiastic consent. I will not be fucking you tonight, Dean. Not with this.” He glanced down at the obvious erection straining the fabric of his boxers and wolf grinned at Dean as Dean swallowed nervously. 

 

“Does your consent extend to fucking you with anything else I want tonight, no larger than you’ve already enjoyed?”

 

Dean nodded silently before quickly adding, “Yes, Sir,” in a husky whisper, his eyes twin moons.

 

Castiel nodded his approval.

 

“May I go a little larger, if you seem to be enjoying yourself?”  

 

Castiel’s eyes danced in the candlelight as he watched Dean squirm, watched his flagging cock swell and his hands twitch not to touch himself. Dean’s mouth opened to answer but Castiel cut him off.

 

“Don’t answer now,” Castiel commanded. “I will ask again when the question is more immediate. If at any time you are not enjoying yourself I will stop immediately and change what I am doing until you are. My only agenda tonight is to give you pleasure. You may climax anytime you feel the urge; you do not have to wait for my permission each time.” 

 

Castiel smirked. “My mouth will be busy. Your instructions are to feel pleasure, and to let me know how you are doing whenever I squeeze your hand. When I squeeze your hand, or anytime you want me to stop, I want you to verbally give me a grade from A to F on your enjoyment of any activity I am currently engaged in. Just call it out, one letter, my intent is to keep you hovering in the A to C range tonight. At my whim, of course, but I need your help to do that. This is not a value judgement; I will not take it personally, I am not invested in any activity. I only want to give  _ you _ a good time, do you understand?”

 

“Yes, Sir,” Dean whispered.

 

“Good.”  Castiel nodded brusquely, reaching to switch off the lamp beside the bed so that only the candles illuminated Dean’s face, his eyes enormous in the gently flickering light. Castiel crossed to his dresser drawer, collected a different bottle of lubricant than the one on the side table. 

 

“Use this one; I prefer the taste.”

 

Dean’s mouth fell open as he accepted the bottle from Castiel’s outstretched hand, holding it uncertainly until Castiel huffed impatiently and added, “ _ Right now,  _ please, Dean.”

 

Dean fell over himself to comply, flipping the cap open and squirting some into his palm and wrapping his hand around his cock, groaning as Castiel’s attention followed his hand and Castiel’s body flowed onto the bed to watch from closer. Inches away, in fact, his body coming to rest between Dean’s knees and his face hovering, watching Dean’s hand move. It was maddening and Dean couldn’t help himself from watching Castiel’s mouth, transfixed as Castiel licked his lips delicately, the candlelight softening the angles of his face, leaning forward to dart his tongue against the tip of Dean’s cock, poking at Dean’s urethra a little, which felt weird, then flattening his tongue against Dean’s frenulum in a soft lapping motion, which drew a pleased gasp from Dean.

 

Castiel immediately went back to poking his tongue into Dean’s urethra, his lips curving into a grin as he caught Dean’s eye, until Dean’s puzzled grimace bloomed into laughter and Castiel paused, smirking, while Dean caught his breath, whispered, “F, Sir.”

 

Castiel beamed up at Dean, nodding his approval, and his tongue returned to soft lapping motions on the most sensitive part of Dean’s dick, his face expectant until Dean’s gasps stuttered into, “A - aAAA- A, Sir.”

 

Castiel nodded, satisfied, and reached for the lube, his newly slickened fingers tracing little teasing strokes under Dean’s balls, his tongue lapping long strokes from behind Dean’s balls to the base of his cock, the feeling unexpected but  _ very  _ nice. Castiel’s hand reached up to grasp and squeeze Dean’s free hand and Dean whispered, “B plus, Sir,” felt Castiel snort and continue his tongue’s exploration of Dean’s balls and the skin where Dean’s thighs met his obliques. Dean’s eyes fluttered shut, his hand slowly stroking as he’d been instructed but his attention  _ entirely  _ on Castiel’s breath and tongue and fingers, exploring him at will.

 

Dean hovered in a state of simmering arousal for what felt like an eternity, his own hand boring, Castiel’s ministrations lovely but too inconsistent and teasing to give him any sense of urgency or rhythm he could get off to, and he finally stifled a sigh of frustration and relaxed instead, surrendering to Castiel’s will. He did not feel Castiel’s wolf grin of satisfaction, but he  _ did  _ feel a subtle difference in Castiel’s energy, a sense of purpose that had not been there before, and he groaned as Castiel’s renewed vigor sent sparks of pleasure up his spine.

 

Castiel’s tongue was licking his taint now, hot and wet, the feeling indescribably delicious, his slippery fingers teasing Dean’s opening, caressing and pressing in just a little, and Dean lost himself in the sensation, all concentration gone, his jacking hand slowing to a stop as he bore down, chasing those escaping fingers and groaning in frustration.

 

Castiel’s searing hot hand came up to grasp Dean’s cock and Dean cried out, his back arching, calling out any sort of grade impossible as Castiel’s magical hand stroked him slow and steady, his hot, wet finger  _ finally  _ pressing into Dean’s ass as his other fingers pressed against Dean’s perineum, pushing into that magical spot right through the flesh of his body as the soft, wet finger -  _ tongue! that’s a tongue! -  _ pushed into Dean’s hole and Dean  _ screamed  _ as he crested instantly, the filthy hot feeling of his ass contracting around Castiel’s tongue as he spilled his pleasure over Castiel’s fist  _ so good  _ and simultaneously  _ so wrong  _ his brain shorted out and he struggled enough that Castiel lifted his head in concern, his breath heaving and his eyes jet black.

 

They stared at each other, panting, Castiel’s hands releasing Dean to lift his torso a little on both elbows, and Dean unconsciously backpedaling up the bed away from Castiel, his eyes wide.

 

“ _ Impala _ ,” Castiel said firmly, leaning up on his elbows. “We are just going to talk right now, as equals. Did I cross a line, Dean?”

 

Dean grimaced, blowing out a breath and sucking in another. He rubbed at his face with the back of his hand, searching for words, and when he found his voice it was breathless and reluctant. 

 

“Not sure, Cas. I mean, I said anything you want to do... and that  _ was _ technically inside the size parameters you laid out for tonight, and I get that when I figured it out, I didn’t stop you, but… still kinda felt like a bait and switch and not gonna lie, that doesn’t feel great. I thought we agreed no ass to mouth.” 

 

“Just last weekend you insisted on licking sweat  _ and  _ lubricant from my body,” Castiel protested mildly. “You wouldn’t let me shower, you  _ begged  _ me not to, and I did as you asked despite my discomfort. Meanwhile, you are so clean right now you literally have no flavor besides soap, not even salt. I thought ass to mouth meant with a cock; this was mouth to ass. Still, of course I will respect your wishes, Dean. If you forbid it, I will not do it again.”

 

Castiel watched Dean’s face intently, studying the parade of embarrassment and uncertainty working its way across Dean’s features.

 

“Will you deny me this pleasure, Dean? Even knowing that I enjoyed it immensely and I am absolutely certain you did as well?”

 

Dean squirmed uncomfortably, and Castiel shook his head at himself, frowning.

 

“I apologize, Dean. I can feel myself being disingenuous, leaning towards half-truths to defend myself, and pressuring you when I can clearly see I am upsetting you. I am well aware that what I did is considered the most taboo of activities, and I can see now that I should have asked explicitly instead of selfishly hoping you would enjoy it so much you wouldn’t stop me.”

 

Castiel sighed heavily before continuing, his voice resigned and apologetic. 

 

“Since this is off the table for the future I might as well confess that the reason I enjoyed it so much is at least partially because it is so forbidden, that fucking you with my tongue made me feel absolutely, decadently, _ deliciously _ filthy, that the intimacy of feeling the exquisite paroxysms of your pleasure around my tongue while you climaxed by my hand was the most arousing thing I’ve ever experienced in my entire life - so arousing that I climaxed against the sheets with no additional stimulation - “ Castiel nodded in confirmation as Dean’s eyebrows rose in surprise, his glance slipping speculatively to Castiel’s hips, still covering the evidence, “- and that it will certainly be a favorite memory for me when I masturbate, unless you wish to forbid me from thinking of it for that purpose, in which case I will endeavor to respect your wishes. Please forgive my overstep, although I am starting to think I don’t deserve forgiveness. If you wish to call off the rest of the evening - or - “ Castiel couldn’t bring himself to say more, and he gulped and finished quietly, “-  I will certainly understand.”

 

Castiel fell silent, his face steaming right through guilty and barreling down the tracks towards wretched, and he blew out a breath, his eyes downcast in shame, waiting for Dean’s verdict.

 

Dean remained silent. After several beats Castiel couldn’t bear the waiting anymore, and he steeled himself to meet Dean’s eyes, wincing as he did so. Castiel was not expecting the soft smirk he found on Dean’s face, studying him. His head tilted in confusion, a question on his face, and Dean shook his head fondly as he answered.

 

“You should have just led with that confession, Cas. ‘It turns me on’ is an automatic winning hand, okay? A royal flush. Feel me?”

 

Castiel just stared, speechless.

 

“I forgive you, Cas, okay?” Dean murmured. “Next time just warn me you’re gonna do something off the map - but that it’s gonna make you blow your load just from touching me - and I’ll say  _ hell yes _ , no matter what it is, okay?”

 

Castiel nodded slowly, his eyes suddenly glistening, the flames dancing in them very bright.

 

"I don't deserve you, Dean."

 

"Aww come on. You just drew a little outside of the lines with that magic tongue of yours." 

 

Dean grinned as Castiel looked sheepish. 

 

"We're drawing a new map tonight, " Dean continued, his grin widening at the rekindling interest blazing in Castiel's eyes. "I’d like to try that again knowing it’s coming, Cas, partly to kinda clear the air and, uh, mostly cuz it felt  _ really  _ good,” he admitted. Dean’s teeth found his bottom lip as he smirked, his coy smile pulling a pleased answering smile to Castiel’s lips.

 

“I'm gonna go take a leak and clean up, and when I get back I'd very much like it if  _ Castiel _ would come back out to play. Can you do that for me, Cas?"

 

Castiel nodded again, sitting up to peel his body from the sticky sheets.

 

"Yes, Dean. I'll change these sheets and get cleaned up, and then I'll need a few minutes to compose myself. I think I'll head downstairs and pour myself a drink, and then come back up here to join you when Castiel is ready, would that be alright?"

 

"Perfect," Dean promised, flowing out of bed to stretch and smirk as Castiel's lips parted and his eyes raked over Dean's form hungrily. "I'll be waiting."

 

 

 

***

 

 

Castiel lifted his lips from worrying a nipple, his face smug. He grinned down at Dean as he stilled the slow motion of his hand - currently halfway inside Dean’s body - so Dean could have any hope of speaking.

 

“Are you enjoying yourself, Dean?”

 

“A p-plus - I mean, yes, Sir,” Dean managed, choking out the words between gasps.

 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Castiel purred. “Just as a point of interest, I thought you might like to know you are taking more than the girth of my cock right now.”

 

Dean’s garbled noise of surprise brought a delighted sparkle to Castiel’s eyes, and he wriggled his fingers ever-so-slightly to hear Dean’s answering moan.

 

“ _ Please,”  _ Dean begged, his chest heaving, “ _ Please fuck me, Sir.” _

 

“I’m sorry, Dean, I can’t do that. I already blurred a line tonight and I will not risk breaking your trust.” 

 

Castiel’s lips parted with longing, but he shook his head firmly at Dean’s expression, clearly gearing up to wheedle.

 

“You cannot give consent under the influence Dean. Cas and Dean have an agreement and Cas is...  _ not here  _ right now. But I’ll take that as a compliment.”

 

Castiel’s lips curled in pleased satisfaction and he bent back down to nibble Dean’s nipple again, his curled fingers slooowly resuming their former motion.

 

Dean gaped at him, distracted, despite four fingers languorously pressing into his ass. 

 

“I haven’t had a drop of alcohol tonight, Sir,” he risked, his voice carefully deferential, his statement ending on a groan and an involuntary thrust of his hips to meet Castiel’s thrust as Castiel lapped a flat tongue stroke across his nipple, the impact of his fingertips throwing a shower of sparks across Dean’s vision.

 

Castiel lifted his face from Dean’s chest to smile at him, his teeth flickering orange in the candlelight. 

 

“I misspoke, then. I should have said you cannot give consent under  _ my  _ influence.” 

 

Castiel twisted his wrist and flexed his fingers apart, watching Dean’s face intently. 

 

Dean’s mouth fell open as his breath heaved over his tongue, the flames dancing in his eyes - flickering yellow over pools of black - extinguishing as his eyelids slipped closed, and he moaned in despair even as he nodded his obedience, his face falling in resignation.

 

“I hadn’t intended to, but if you would like,” Castiel offered, his voice the soothing tones of someone offering a kindness, “I could fuck your face.”

 

Dean’s eyes flew open, his face desperate now, with hope and longing.

 

“ _ Yes please, Sir _ ,” he whispered, and Castiel nodded genially.

 

“Very well. However, I will not orgasm until you do, so if you want a taste, you know what you must do.” 

 

Castiel grinned at Dean’s slack-jawed, awed expression, and he flowed lithely over Dean’s body, spinning on his elbow as an axis so he could straddle Dean’s face and offer Dean his cock without pulling his fingers out of Dean’s ass. Dean strained his neck but he could only reach just the tiniest bit and he groaned in frustration as he stuck his tongue out to lick as much as he could reach that way.

 

Castiel sank his lips over the end of Dean’s cock and suckled, maybe an inch or so, tilting his hips so Dean could now reach the same amount of his cock. Dean keened in frustration, his entire body tensing as he arched in singular purpose, everything happening to him of no consequence now, Castiel’s probing fingers and gently licking mouth eliciting no response at all, Dean’s entire focus consumed with need, and Castiel marveled, surprised, as he relented, relaxing his hips and letting Dean take as much as he wanted.

 

Dean wanted all of it, everything, and he hummed with delight at the sudden largesse, completely unaware he was literally vocalizing his pleasure, soft hands gently caressing Castiel’s thighs and ass above him and even softer lips and tongue and throat swallowing Castiel down, as much as he could take, the feeling of Castiel’s cock deep in his throat intensely erotic and suddenly he could feel everything Castiel was doing to him again, his back arching, his delighted humming a crescendo, now, of muffled cries as he bucked against Castiel’s throat and tongue and thrusting fingers, sensation crashing over him like a waterfall, a torrent, careening him towards Niagara falls in a barrel, clutching Castiel’s thighs for dear life as Castiel’s fingers and throat worked diligently to coax another orgasm from his spent body - elusive and delicate at this point, given how many he’d already had - but as the sparks radiated from Castiel’s lips and tongue and slowwwly thrusting fingers Dean’s mind tossed up the glittering city on a hill that Castiel had promised to _come_ _when he did_ and his need consumed him, his concentration complete, intent only on reaching that distant shimmering mirage, the sparks in his body spinning across his vision as light as he arched into Castiel’s strokes, met him with a steady rhythm and desperate noises deep in his throat until he finally, _finally_ summited that impossible climb and _hurtled_ over the falls, weeping with relief as Castiel did exactly as he had promised and followed him, groaning, over that roaring precipice and into the churning waters below.

 

 

***

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	81. Horseshoe Block Party

 

Dean turned Baby into the Horseshoe with the wind ruffling his hair through his open window and a million-dollar smile on his lips, but his fingers nervously drumming on his steering wheel. Castiel watched Dean’s fingers but said nothing, balancing the fresh coffee they’d just picked up on his knee in their paper holder, the box of doughnuts between them on the seat; Dean’s reluctance to consume anything more substantial than coffee this morning perfectly fine by Castiel, who was running his own internal battle with nerves. 

 

Castiel took a long, slow breath, held it for a count of seven, blowing it out slowly and staring straight ahead as Dean found a parking spot well off the de facto basketball court for Baby.

 

“You okay?” Dean murmured, turning to search Castiel’s face, and Castiel met his eyes, blinking in languorous slow-motion and inhaling one more slow breath before speaking.

 

“Just as okay as you are. This is  _ your _ turf, Dean; if you’re nervous then I’m justifiably on the verge of panic.” 

 

Castiel pulled in another breath and held it, waited the full count of seven before blowing it out for a slow eight, his pulse doing a gentle staccato when Dean caressed his wrist, Dean’s fingertips trailing sparks in their wake.

 

“It’s not my turf either, Cas, not by a country mile. They just suffer me to live here.”

 

José chose that moment to pop his head in Dean’s open window, already chattering excitedly, startling both men, who managed not to spill their coffee only by miraculous intervention.

 

“Dean! Where have you  _ been _ it’s almost time to  _ start _ ! Is Cas-tee-yell gonna  _ play? _ ¡Cielos! Are you gonna be on the same team? That’s not fair then you’ll win everything!”

 

Castiel caught Dean’s eye, smiling softly, and Dean shrugged in defeat. 

 

“Okay, okay,” Dean whispered, “a tiny bit mine.” 

 

He turned his full attention to José, handing him the box of doughnuts with one hand through his window and reaching for the door handle with the other. Dean rattled off his answers as he climbed out of the car and rolled up her window and shut the door again to stride rapidly towards his apartment, José and Castiel following him in hot pursuit.

 

“Buenos días José! I was with Cas,  _ yes  _ he’s gonna play - we just gotta change into shorts real quick - I don’t know what team we’ll be on - don’t the captains pick? And yes you can have a doughnut, if your Mama says  _ si _ , and you bring Felipe one too and maybe don’t tell all the other kids - “

 

It was too late, José was already gone, weaving through the gathering crowd, racing to ask his mother, box still in hand, and Dean sighed, laughing and grabbing a coffee from the three Castiel was holding in the paper carrier to take a sip, the first swallow visibly soothing him as he waved and nodded his holas to anyone who looked or hollered his way, mostly to yell - translations completely unnecessary given the tone and jocularity and certain hand signals Castiel couldn’t help but understand - some variant on “Hurry up gringo, you’re late!”

 

José was back in moments, the box now precariously gripped in one small hand and a doughnut already half eaten in the other, and Dean scooped the box out of his hands just as it tilted towards the ground, narrowly saving it from catastrophe.

 

“Ay, mierda!” José exclaimed around a mouthful of pastry, and Dean clicked his tongue, surveying the remaining spoils in the box. 

 

“Your Mama better not hear you talking like that,” Dean scolded, practically jogging towards the stairs now, “and you’re lucky you didn’t eat Sam’s Boston Cremes, primito mine.”

 

“ _ Primo,”  _ José insisted, and Dean snorted, taking the steps to his place two at a time, Castiel smiling softly to himself as he followed the two of them, his gym bag slung over his shoulder.

 

“Mmm Hmm, grow a couple more inches and we’ll talk - “

 

“- And I would  _ never.  _ They’re Sam’s  _ favorito.” _

 

“What’re my favorite?” 

 

Sam was just opening the door to come downstairs, already dressed in shorts and sneakers, and his face lit up to see the three of them on his doorstep, his delight ratcheting up another level at the somewhat worse-for-wear box in Dean’s hand. Sam immediately relieved Dean of his burden to do an about-face into the kitchen, drop the box on the table and dive in, while Dean unceremoniously stripped out of his boots and jeans and pulled on shorts from his dresser in seconds flat, shoving a donut between his teeth as he laced up his sneakers.

 

“C’mon Cas, everyone’s waiting,” Dean urged breathlessly, realizing in the same breath what he was asking and adding, “Everyone out, we’ll be out in like one minute. Take the  _ box,  _ Sam,  _ yes  _ that’s your coffee, go, go go.”

 

Dean shooed the kids out the door, shutting it behind them so Castiel could slip out of his jeans and change into the shorts from his gym bag, pulling a banana out of the bag as well and peeling it with his teeth while he pulled his sneakers on with one hand, taking a giant bite and setting the end of it on the table to work on his laces, while Dean’s face free fell about a thousand feet.

 

“ _ Shit,  _ Cas, I’m sorry, let me get the doughnuts back from Sam before he eats all of them - “   
  


“You are not responsible for my nutrition, Dean,” Castiel answered mildly, swallowing and reaching for the rest of his banana, but he caught Dean’s hurt microexpression before Dean managed to hide it, and gently smiled up at his  _ boyfriend’s  _ dismay.

 

“I  _ meant,”  _ Castiel amended carefully, “I’ll let you know if I need anything, so you don’t have to worry about being a  _ host _ .  We’re in it together now, right?” Castiel smile widened as Dean’s face went soft. “I can’t play on an empty stomach, but I can’t play on junk food, either. Do you have any carbs? Orange juice maybe, or bread?”

 

Dean shook his head apologetically. “Plain doughnuts are probably left if we hurry,” he offered, wincing, and Castiel nodded okay.

 

Dean _bolted_ out the door to rescue any remaining doughnuts from Sam’s maw, and Castiel followed him, grinning despite the riot in his stomach, pulling on a nylon workout tee as he followed his _boyfriend,_ blinking, into the bright sunshine of the first place they had agreed not to hide they were _together_.

  
  
  


***

 

Dean stepped lightly into the milieu of excited  _ everyone  _ in hot pursuit of Sam, narrowly managing to grab the box out of his hands still fairly full, since an indignant Sam hadn’t realized he was on deadline, and handing it triumphantly behind himself to Castiel, his smile wide and bright. Castiel chose a couple plain doughnuts and handed the remainder back to Sam, whose disappointment disappeared into smug success as he lifted the box to his face to lick his way across the remaining doughnuts before anyone could confiscate them again.

 

“Oh my god you’re disgusting,” Dean exclaimed, making a face and grabbing a jelly donut anyway, to shove half of it into his mouth in one bite.

 

Castiel made a theatrical barfing-into-his-hand motion while Sam protested “HEY!” and Dean laughed out loud around his mouthful of doughnut, shrugging at Castiel’s expression of complete disgust.

 

“I hadn’t realized kissing Dean was actually a two-for-one package deal,” Castiel complained, making a face, and Sam giggled, “Ha! You should be so lucky,” as he swallowed the last of his current pastry and reached for another, elbowing Dean, who cheerfully elbowed back but looked at least a little ashamed when Castiel mock-glared at him. 

 

Sam was already turning to ask Matias, lounging against a support post nearby, ” ¿Quiénes son los capitanes?” but he needn’t have asked, conversation around them quieting as Matias nodded towards Manuel and Alejandro, stepping into the milling crowd together,   Manuel raising his hands to get everyone’s attention.

 

“Gracias por venir, señoras y señores,” he began, to a chorus of hoots and hollers and general laughter, as if anyone would have missed this for the world.

 

“Las apuestas de hoy serán manejadas por Diego.” 

 

Manuel nodded towards Diego, who raised his hand waving a clipboard, in case anyone didn’t know his face, which was highly probable given the size of the crowd. 

 

“Diego is the bookie today,” Dean whispered to Castiel, whose eyebrows rose in surprise at Dean’s saucy grin and nod towards Manuel, who was still speaking.

 

“What’s happening?” Castiel asked, as everyone broke into raucous cheering, and Sam leaned towards Castiel, his eyes shining, because Dean was too busy whooping to answer.

 

“Manuel and Alejandro are matching the house’s take from today’s betting and the whole shebang is going to benefit his new daughter Mary and the baby.”

 

Castiel’s chest felt tight all of a sudden, and he leaned towards Dean to ask, “Manuel adopted a daughter?”

 

Dean nodded, distracted. “Pretty much, yeah, Cas. Sounds silly but I guess it was pretty much love at first sight for those two.” He reassessed his statement at Castiel’s quizzical expression, adding, “Like,  _ family _ love, I mean. We found her with her boyfriend Juan - that’s him over there, that skinny kid in the bright red shorts - squatting in one of the houses the week I - uh - ‘had the flu.’” 

 

Dean winced and flashed Castiel an apologetic look at the memory of the lie, continued quietly, a flash of rage furrowing his brow, “I guess her Dad’s a real piece of fuckin’ work, but Manuel’s dealing with him, uh, in-house, because Juan insists it’s his baby and we’re going to give them that that if it kills us.”  

 

Dean nodded at the horror on Castiel’s face, his own eyes wide to match. 

 

“ _ Anyway _ , Manuel took her under his wing and she’s been on cloud nine ever since.”

 

Dean turned away to watch and Castiel turned with him, looking towards the beautiful raven haired little girl - little except for her swollen belly of course - with her hands thrown over her mouth, her eyes very wide over the tops of her fingers.

 

Mary was now the center of attention, shocked and delighted and more than a little teary-eyed, heaving herself out of her chair in the shade of the upper balcony in front of Mrs Rodriguez’ place to race unsteadily across the asphalt, the crowd parting like the red sea for Moses, so she could throw her tiny arms around Manuel’s neck, Manuel bending down almost double so she could reach; her beach ball belly a fulcrum between them as he squeezed her gently in his giant embrace and kissed the top of her head.

 

She hugged ‘Tio’ Alejandro too, Alex valiantly trying to act like it was no big deal but everyone could see that it was, and he gallantly offered his arm and walked her back to her chair, handing her off to Mrs Rodriguez’ care as her Juan beamed shyly at her from the edge of the crowd of hopeful players and she beamed right back at him, the buzzing crowd returning rapt attention to Manuel now, but with a new, tangible feeling crackling in the air. Something Castiel hadn’t dared let himself feel in a very long time. 

 

He tasted it, testing the shape of it in his mind as Manuel kept talking, the sound of the crowd and Manuel’s voice falling away as he spun it around and around to study it. 

 

_ Joy _ . It felt like joy, Castiel realized, and when he turned his face away to collect himself, he saw that Dean was doing the same and reached out to squeeze Dean’s hand, the sparks dancing across his fingers and up his arm from their connection an instant comfort. 

 

Dean turned towards him then, his smile so radiant Castiel lost himself in it, completely forgetting to let go of Dean’s hand as he stared at Dean’s face, heedless of who might be looking. Dean didn’t let go either, he stepped closer instead, to stand beside Cas, on standby to translate but no translation was needed as Manuel and Alejandro were roshamboing for first pick, Alejandro winning with paper to varied cheers and groans, his delighted scanning of the crowd for his first pick drawing a number of urgent transactions Diego’s way, and Alex stalled magnificently, a real showman playing his crowd, until Diego nodded his go-ahead and Alejandro hollered out loud and clear, to a chorus of various groans and cheers and one  _ very  _ surprised teenager, “BLANQUITO WINCHESTER!”

 

“OH COME ON,” Dean hollered, pulling his hand away from Castiel’s touch to use both hands as a megaphone, as an absolutely  _ delighted  _ Sam stepped up beside Alejandro and a furious flurry of activity rose and fell around Diego, the crowd variously booing and cheering Alex’s choice.

 

“What did you expect?” Castiel whispered at Dean’s obvious irritation, “He’s the tallest player on the court, Dean!”

 

“Sure, okay, but first draft pick has to buy a round for the entire party, Cas, and I’m the guy with the wallet in this equation.”

 

Castiel spit himself a little, trying to hide his mirth behind his hands but entirely failing as Dean glared at him in exasperation.

 

“If you need me to spell you, I guess I  _ am  _ apparently dating both of you,” Castiel quipped, grinning and allowing it as Dean poked him in the ribs in affront.

 

“You most certainly are  _ not -” _

 

Manuel was scanning the crowd now, Diego doing furious business, but Manuel reached into his pocket, pulled out his buzzing phone, scowled at it.

 

“Un minuto! Por favor perdóname!” he called out, striding rapidly away to his apartment with a glance at Alex to follow, and no one dared boo or make any sort of peep until the two of them had disappeared. Animated discussion resumed immediately then, Sam blanching as men hollered their beer preferences at him for the keg he hadn’t realized he was now on the hook for. He caught Dean’s eye with a vaguely panicked question on his face, Dean waved a hand at him to relax, and Castiel smiled fondly to himself watching the two of them, as Sam instantly returned to preening and Dean to looking grumpy.

 

One of the dozens of new hombres Dean did not know was hanging out with several of his friends on the sidelines, someone’s second cousin, brash and mouthy and clearly incapable of reading the ‘room.’ He did not notice the dangerous silence growing around him as he leered at Dean, standing entirely inside Castiel’s personal space, an ease between them, Dean leaning close to whisper into Castiel’s ear, something that made Castiel’s eyes roll and his lip quirk with obvious fondness.

 

“¿Qual gabacho es la novia?” the young man jeered loudly, more men turning to look, as he waved at the sidelines where the women and children were spectating. “Ella puede vernos jugar!” 

 

He said it with exaggerated graciousness, as though being an excellent host, and he looked to his new amigos for laughter at his hilarity, irritated at the carefully blank faces letting his excellent joke fall flat.

 

He turned back to Dean, to see if at least he’d had an impact there, but while he absolutely had _ ,  _ it was not at all the impact he’d expected.

 

Dean had not moved away from Castiel - if anything, he was standing a little closer than before - nor did he look even a little bit ashamed or embarrassed. He  _ did  _ look angry though, and his face was a snarl as he spat his reply. 

 

“ _ Fuck you, pendejo! Nuestros dos vergas son más grandes que los tuyos! _ ”

 

_ That  _ got the laugh that the hombre had been going for, and his face twisted in anger as Dean leaned in to murmur to Castiel, “Fucker said whichever of us is the girlfriend can watch. I told him  _ both  _ our dicks are bigger -”

 

“- I caught it, Dean,” Castiel assured him quietly, his face snapping carefully impassive as his stance shifted subtly to menacing, Dean’s shoulders turning to face the guy, his lounging ease from before suddenly stretching to his full height, several inches and at least twenty pounds on the new guy, and there were two of them.

 

The angry hombre turned to look for backup, searching the faces of his new friends, most of whom Dean had either worked beside or traded a favor with or quietly helped out - if not directly, then someone they loved - at some point in the last sixteen months. Their kids  _ played together on the weekends _ for fuck’s sake; everyone here understood family and loyalty and exactly the nature of Dean’s relationship with his brother without a hint of explanation required. The folks here had taken these boys in. They’d helped Dean get a job, listened to him brag with pride about Sammy’s grades, lived alongside him as he struggled and flourished and slowly learned their language, and they’d carried him to the hospital and helped him grieve when his heart had shattered in his chest.

 

Dean was  _ theirs _ now, come hell or high water, or, apparently, another hombre on his arm; as long as that gringo kept their boy’s smile as bright as it was today,  _ an allowance would be made _ .

 

To his obvious surprise, the new guy found only crossed arms and raised eyebrows from his new friends in the fight he’d just provoked with these particular gringos. His fists balled up at his sides and he squared his shoulders - backing down impossible without losing face - turning to face the music, only to find Dean’s hand outstretched, an olive branch with five fingers, a friendly grin on his face. Friendly, even if it didn’t reach his eyes, which were still furious.

 

“Me llaman Gringo Muy Guapo,” Dean offered evenly, rolling his eyes in the language of fond long-suffering, “pero mi nombre es Dean.”  

 

Dean’s shoulders relaxed a fraction as the hombre deflated, smiling weakly and accepting the handshake. Dean’s head tilted towards Castiel as he continued, his voice now holding a challenge; an offer for that fight if the answer was not to his liking, “They hadn’t met my  _ novio _ , Castiel, yet, or they’d have called me ‘Gringo Only Okay-Looking.’”

 

The guy snorted, smiling back for real this time, and Dean’s smile reached his eyes as Castiel stepped forward to offer his hand in turn, his stance only slightly less menacing than before.

 

“Alonso,” the hombre admitted, his eyes not quite apologizing, but enough regret there, as Castiel studied him, for Castiel to relax, nodding.

 

“Mucho gusto, Alonso,” Castiel tried, and Dean beamed at him so proudly Alonso found himself smiling despite himself, his spine stiffening with fear as Manuel reappeared with Alex in tow, Alex now bare-chested and gleaming, his tattoos rippling as the two of them strode swiftly through the crowd to examine this little drama unfolding, Manuel asking brightly, “¿Qué me perdí?” as Alonso’s face registered the slowly dawning, horrified recollection that he’d been explicitly warned that Manuel had pet gringos, and these were probably them, weren’t they.

 

“No mucho,” Dean answered smoothly, “This is our new friend, Alonso.”

 

Manuel didn’t miss a beat, studying Dean and then Alonso for the briefest of moments before turning to Castiel for his verdict, which clearly had to be unanimous. There was a trial happening here in very rapid unspoken communication, and Castiel swallowed his urge to take out a lifetime’s frustration on one brash kid who had, in the end, flashed him a look of regret that was very nearly an apology.

 

“Neuvo amigo?” Castiel tried, long-forgotten High School Spanish coming to him through the fog of time, and Dean was  _ so  _ pleased with him Castiel lost himself in Dean’s smile again, didn’t even notice Manuel nodding and accepting their judgement, clapping an infinitely relieved, still fairly terrified Alonso on the back, and returning to the center of the crowd to call out his first choice.

 

“CASTIEL WINCHESTER!” 

 

Castiel’s shock was palpable. He was still staring at Dean, dazed now, unable to process what was happening, the laughter and hollering and money changing hands and expectation he was meant to do something humming somewhere in his mind, somewhere else, white noise as he tasted his name combined with Dean’s and parsed the parade of emotion he’d watched crossing Dean’s face in slow motion as his personal timeline slowed to a halt, blood rushing in his ears. 

 

A microsecond of astonishment. A brief flash of something sour that must be about not getting picked, because Dean’s expression when Manuel’s cry of “CASTIEL” had ended and the name “WINCHESTER” had begun had traveled in rapid succession from puzzled to astonished, tripped through delighted, and landed, just for a moment, on desperate longing, before traveling back to delighted and staying there, his smile absolutely dazzling as he reached out to grip Castiel by both shoulders and give him a little shake.

 

“Go on, Sweetheart,” he whispered, “You’re up!” 

 

Castiel obeyed, still dazed, stepping through the crowd as it parted to join Manuel, beaming down at him and clapping him on the back before looking to Alejandro to choose next, a newly shirtless Sam stepping over to playfully punch Castiel in the shoulder and grin at him and step away again now that they were sworn enemies, all of it just a white buzzing in his ears as he stared at the smile on Dean’s face, still grinning at him as he got called up to join Sam and the gringos were now distributed, apparently this was important to the betting flurry, none of it mattering to Castiel at all as he stared across the asphalt at Dean, the man he loved more than he’d known he could love anyone, the man whose face, for the briefest of moments, when Manuel had teasingly given Castiel his last name, had flashed to desperate longing.

 

Dean was soon distracted by new teammates, by laughter and greetings and fist bumps and excited chatter, but through all of it Castiel heard nothing, saw no one, watched only Dean’s face, radiant and gorgeous and excited above an entire universe of freckles, constellations Castiel would gladly spend a lifetime mapping, but with a soft smile that crossed his features only when he caught Castiel’s eye; Castiel’s attention never leaving him, he could feel it, Castiel knew he could feel it by the flush on the tips of his ears, and the way his lips curled up when he thought no one was looking -

 

“Castiel.”

 

Castiel heard his name, somewhere, on the edge of perception but it wasn’t important, nothing mattered but Dean’s face, glowing across the distance - 

 

“ _ Castiel! _ ”

 

This time Manuel moved his body in between Castiel and Dean to get Castiel’s attention, his giant hand gently landing on Castiel’s shoulder, leaning close to catch Castiel’s dazed attention, and to speak for his ears alone.

 

“Castiel I did not mean you any harm.” Manuel was smiling gently, his face apologetic. “I meant only that those boys have claimed you as su familia, do you understand? This was not intended as a - a gay thing, si? No one has to change su nombre if they don’t want to, No pensé ofender.”

 

Manuel’s eyebrows lifted in concern, and Castiel blinked slowly, parsing the words.

 

“I didn’t mind.” 

 

Castiel shrugged slowly, his attention trying to slip around Manuel to Dean again and Manuel reached out his other hand to grip him gently by both shoulders and give him a tiny shake like Dean had done not twenty minutes ago, enough that Castiel’s completely spaced out attention focused on his gentle, yet slightly impatient bright white smile.

 

“Castiel. I am sorry I have broken you, but I need you here with me now. Esta mañana those boys were su familia, and esta noche they will be again, but right now you are mi jugador estrella - my star player, Castiel, the  _ ringer _ who is going to help me pay the hospital bills for mi nueva hija, and necesito que los humilles - how do you say this - I need you to help me  _ humiliate the ever-loving mierda out of both of them _ . Can you do this for me?”

 

Castiel blinked, once, twice, and an enormous grin slowly spread across his face as his consciousness returned to his body and he really registered Manuel grinning in front of him, then the team of players behind him watching the two of them, then the entire courtyard, quietly buzzing, watching him. He shook his head to clear it, blew out his breath, sucked in another.

 

“I can do that,” he nodded, beaming, and Manuel clapped him on the back, grinning for real now, turning to nod at Alejandro, his ex best friend and newly sworn mortal enemy. 

 

“Que comiencen los juegos!”

  
  
  


***

  
  


Manuel waved a hand, refusing Dean’s attempt to hand him a fistful of sweaty twenties for the afterparty beer run.

 

“What? Why not?”  

 

Dean tried to wipe his forehead on his arm but he was still bare-chested and succeeded only in spreading the sweat around. Castiel smirked and offered Dean his completely drenched sleeve, but Dean grinned at him and shook his head no thanks, still waving twenties in Manuel’s general direction.

 

Manuel leaned in close and dropped his voice.

 

“Your Castiel made me  _ mucho dinero _ today, Dean.”

 

“But we won!” Dean protested.

 

“You  _ barely  _ won that last game,“ Castiel countered, using his sopping wet tee-shirt sleeve to brush his dripping hair off his forehead sideways to divert the sweat from his eyes with medium success. “Two out of three by the  _ barest _ margin,  _ practically cheating -  _ “

 

“¡Cállense,” Manuel commanded quietly, his freshly showered face leaning in close and smelling of nice soap and aftershave. His nose wrinkled as he got a whiff of Dean and Dean grinned up at him, cheerfully lifting both elbows high to theatrically run his hands through his sopping wet hair.

 

“That’s some  _ quality _ all-American stench right there, yessir - “

 

“ _ Dean, _ ” Manuel hissed impatiently. “I let you go to el mismo equipo with Sam as a  _ calculated risk _ , si? Castiel stepped up and we  _ beat the spread.  _ Go.  _ Shower, por favor.  _ I will pay for las cervesas, bien? _ ” _

 

Dean’s eyes flared in understanding, and he lowered his arms, nodding his obedience solemnly.

 

“Si, seguro, the  _ second  _ Sam gets out of the shower. Bastard raced us upstairs and was showering before I even made it in the door to find my wallet. I had to pick the lock to take a piss, and Cas was too polite.”

 

Manuel laughed for real, his head thrown back and his smile wide and bright.

 

“Su hermano es una - a menace,” he finally replied, wiping his eyes and turning away, car keys already jingling in his hand. “I’ll be right back. ¿Necesitas algo?”

 

“El Sol?” Dean asked hopefully, and Manuel nodded, striding rapidly away and assuring Dean over his shoulder.

 

“You got it.”

 

Dean turned to Castiel, his face suddenly guilty.  

 

“ _ Shit,  _ did you want anything, Cas?”

 

“About a gallon of water, and the  _ bathroom _ ,” Castiel answered gravely, and Dean laughed, reaching out a sweaty hand to briefly squeeze Castiel’s before heading towards the stairs.

 

“Come on. We can definitely arrange that.”

  
  


***

 

“What’s this?” 

 

Castiel’s brows quirked up in interest, studying the aluminum column Dean was waving at proudly, his face completely smug, and Dean and José waited with obvious pride while Castiel did a slow circle around the contraption; obviously a set of all four matching car rims stacked one on top of the other, with what had to be a semi truck rim perched on top, the dent on one side clearly making it of no use for its original purpose. The whole thing looked terribly precarious, but when Castiel reached out to give it a little shove test for resistance it didn’t budge, and José smirked extra wide, high-fiving Dean, who beamed down at him.

 

“Good work, kiddo. How many rocks did you get in there?”

 

“Mostly little bits of concrete,” José admitted, “but you said that was okay!”

 

“It is!” Dean assured him, “Heat goes up. The base won’t get hot. Much.”

 

They grinned at Castiel, who was studying the ends of rebar sticking up through several of the lug nut holes of the truck rim and disappearing into the dark depths of the interior, and what did, on closer inspection, look like several cubic feet of extra fine city rubble, filling the inside of the car rims at least sixteen inches deep.

 

“I hope you don’t need to move this,” Castiel observed dryly, and José looked affronted. 

 

“Not  _ today _ we don’t,” José answered primly, and Dean snorted.

 

“Good one, Kid,” Dean stage whispered, and José preened while Castiel waved a hand at the foot-wide round hole in the center of the truck rim.

 

“How are you going to make any sort of fire in this? Even if you have long enough chunks of firewood not to fall through the holes, the coals will just fall into the column!”

 

“Ah, well, we have a couple more parts in Baby’s trunk.  Come on José, let’s go get them!”

 

José fell into lockstep beside Dean, the two of them striding rapidly away. Castiel almost felt left out until José called over his shoulder, “Come  _ on,  _ Cas-tee-yell!” and Dean turned around, his obvious surprise as he waited for Castiel to catch up smoothing Castiel’s feathers into flat, silky waves. He followed as Dean keyed open Baby’s trunk to reveal - 

 

“Is that a garbage can lid?”

 

“Yes, Sir,” Dean nodded, his eyes widening in sudden realization as Castiel hissed in a breath and shook his head  _ no. _

 

“Yessirree Bob,” Dean amended, handing the lid out to José with a flash of apology on his face for Castiel, relief as Castiel nodded he was forgiven and held out his arms in an offer to carry anything.

 

Castiel got the big round grilling grate, and he rolled his eyes at being given a lighter burden than the child as Dean tucked both enormous bags of charcoal under his own armpit.

 

“You can get the lighter fluid, okay Cas?”

 

Castiel peered into the trunk and his mouth dropped open.

 

“SIX? How many do you NEED?”

 

Dean shrugged, grinning at José. 

 

“They were on sale, Cas, and we need to burn off the galvanized on this trash lid before I cook anything over it.”

 

“We’re all going to die,” Castiel commented dryly, handing José the grill lid so he could get his arms around six half-gallons of lighter fluid.

 

“Alejandro will take whatever we don’t need for the bonfire tonight,” Dean retorted easily, nodding to Sam just joining them and lifting his arm slightly so Sam could take one of the bags of charcoal, tilting his head towards the open trunk, which Sam seamlessly pulled closed.

 

“Not yet,” Dean instructed as they reached the ‘grill’ and Sam looked ready to rip into his bag. 

 

“First, we torch the lid.”

 

This required a round of roshambo which Sam handily won, pleased as punch but José looked so dejected not to be considered in the running that Sam sighed and relinquished Dean’s zippo to the child, accepting a jug of lighter fluid from Castiel as a consolation prize. Dean took the lid from José and gently deposited it upside down, Sam squirted a tiny bit of lighter fluid in the depression under the handle, and José looked affronted again.

 

“Just a little to  _ start _ ,” Dean directed, pointing imperiously, and José lit the puddle, yanking his hand back in plenty of time and handing the lighter reluctantly back to Dean’s hand, palm up expectantly.

 

Sam and Dean set about squirting fluid over the lid with dueling squirt bottles of lighter fluid, indistinguishable from actual children except by size, the whole operation flaring up and smoking and stinking and charring the lid a dull white as Castiel backed slowly away and José edged slowly closer.

 

“José, go get my new barbecue tongs, wouldja? Under the sink,” Dean instructed, and José was gone in a flash, little lungs briefly safe as Dean grinned at Castiel over the rolling column of fumes and smoke and Castiel rolled his eyes at him.

 

“We’ll get a nice one for your deck, okay? Promise,” Dean murmured quietly, and Castiel’s eyes went soft, picturing it.

 

“Okay,” he whispered, stepping out of the way as José reappeared, practically running until Dean saw him, then slowing to a walk as Dean frowned at him.

 

“What did I say? _ ” _

 

“These aren’t scissors,” José protested, and Dean’s eyebrows lifted in incredulity at being sassed as José grinned up at him, handing him the tongs.

 

“No running with  _ anything sharp, _ ” Sam interjected, “and you  _ know  _ it. Your Mom would  _ kill  _ you if you fell down and stabbed yourself.”

 

“ _ And  _ she would cry,” Dean added dryly, gripping the lid handle with the tongs and tugging enough to get an edge up, so he could pry the thing up and flip it over.

 

José hadn’t flinched at the thought of his Mom killing him, but he hung his head in shame at Dean’s admonition, and the hair on Castiel’s arms and the back of his neck rippled upright as he watched three children - one forced to grow up far too fast, one nearly overgrown, and one actual child - playing with fire, and he realized, his chest suddenly so tight it hurt, that even though Dean’s giant fledgling still took up most of his nest, another lonely chick had somehow found room under his wing.

  
  
  


***

  
  


By the time Dean declared his charcoal ready, covered in ash and glowing red on the inside of the smoking pile, Castiel could detect no more fumes coming from Dean’s grilling contraption, and by the time Dean had his first batch of teriyaki wings almost caramelized, the entire courtyard smelled  _ fantastic.  _ Castiel stood by, ready to help if needed, but the marinade Dean had lovingly described as “soy sauce and sugar and oil and pineapple juice and a  _ fuckton  _ of fresh garlic and ginger, Cas,” was already made, the wings needed nothing more than a watchful eye, and when Castiel handed Dean a dripping El Sol from the green cooler, his hands were shaking so badly he almost dropped it.

 

“Are you okay, Cas?” Dean asked, catching Castiel by the shoulder to steady him.

 

“I’m - I’m  _ famished _ , Dean,” Castiel admitted, lifting his hands to watch them shake. “I think the banana wore off ten minutes into the first game, and I distinctly remember the doughnuts burning up by the second time you fouled me - “

 

“- I  _ never!“  _

 

Dean smirked as Castiel snorted; they both knew he  _ absolutely  _ had, and Castiel rolled his eyes and shook his head slowly as he returned his attention to his hands, trembling in front of him.

 

“I don’t know  _ what _ I’m burning now.”

 

“Nothing I can afford you to. Do not  _ mess  _ with perfection.” 

 

Dean grinned, his eyes sparkling, as Castiel looked up in surprise, his face blooming with bashful pleasure at the compliment. 

 

“Go get a plate, Cas, do a tour, I’ll be here. These have another ten minutes at least and I have like four more batches to go.” 

 

Dean waved his tongs towards the folding table several doors down in front of Maria’s place, currently being restocked by Felipe, his bouncing curls barely visible under his burden of heaping aluminum foil roasting pans, where Castiel could see José chattering at Sam, somehow at the leading edge of the eager crowd, already busily loading down a plate. 

 

“Bring me an empanada.”

 

“Yes,  _ Sir. _ ” Castiel winked at Dean as he turned away, Dean gaping after him for a moment before snorting and turning back to flipping wings to look for  _ just  _ the right amount of char.

 

As Castiel passed Sam and José coming his way, José instantly abandoned Sam to attach himself to Castiel’s elbow, eagerly procuring him a plate and insisting on carrying the one for Dean, pointing at and describing his Mama’s offerings proudly in turn, and following him around the Horseshoe, translating where needed and murmuring names to Castiel that he had had no chance of learning or remembering from his morning.  

 

Castiel collected the empanadas he’d promised Dean, deep-fried plantains from an enormous turkey-sized deep fryer hissing and spitting in front of Diego’s place, grilled corn coated in mayonnaise and chili powder from Alejandro, gleefully stoking an enormous pile of charcoal inside a tipped over shopping cart, and grilled watermelon slices covered in jalapenos from Manuel, who was between meat courses and experimenting over a cast iron grill held aloft on one column, suspiciously protruding from an enormous block of what looked like uprooted, poured concrete. 

 

By the time Castiel made it back to Dean, more foodstuffs than he could name on their plates and a pair of styrofoam cups of Mrs Rodriguez’ mango-habanero ceviche precariously gripped in two fingers, plastic cutlery in his pocket, he was not only absolutely ravenous, but he had a newfound appreciation for Dean’s ingenuity. 

 

José eagerly presented Dean with the plate they’d assembled, Castiel handed off a cup and a selection of pocket cutlery, and there followed several minutes of near silence as Castiel leaned against the side of the stairwell and tried  _ very  _ hard not to inhale the paper plate, too, with mixed success.

 

“Are the wings ready yet?” Sam whined, reappearing with an empty plate and grabby hands, and Dean nodded, tilting his head at the stack of cooked wings off to the side of his grilling surface, well away from the fresh batch of raw ones currently steaming over the center.

 

“Salmonella tongs!” Dean admonished, mouth full, and Sam dropped them to resort to using his fingers, hissing while he claimed at least half of the batch, two fingers at a time, and escaping with his spoils back in the general direction of empanadas before Dean could muster a protest.

 

“Your grill is the best one,” Castiel declared matter-of-factly. “You two did a terrific job.”

 

“ _ Right?”  _ Dean exclaimed, waving a wing. “I  _ told  _ you, José!” He popped the wing in his mouth to offer a greasy-fingered high five and José accepted, beaming up at Castiel.

 

“I hadn’t understood the design parameters, nor that it was a contest.” Castiel remarked, stepping up to the grill to liberate a wing from the stack and delicately test it with his teeth. It wasn’t too hot and he took a bite, chewed, his eyelids fluttering, swallowed, set the bitten wing on his plate to liberate half a dozen more, Dean positively vibrating with pleased success, before returning to his leaning perch against the stairwell.

 

“I understand now that the measure of a grilling surface is not only the BTUs per square inch, nor the aesthetics of the device, nor the facility of reuse.”  

 

Castiel delicately dismembered another wing, chewing pensively, while Dean and José waited, rapt, to hear his verdict.

 

“The measure of a grilling surface, as it happens, is a complicated algorithm that must still take into consideration the primary cooking purpose of course, but also a max-min equation of cost - preferably covered by an unwitting third party, as I have come to understand it - versus utility, lowest cost paramount, utility second, and aesthetics clearly of trivial concern - traditional aesthetics perhaps even a demerit in the scoring -  but in my opinion the device should also be awarded additional points for ingenious repurposing of otherwise discarded elements, and by this measure your device - despite the contestants bearing the cost of the trash can lid and grill grate - is the clear winner.”

 

Dean beamed at Castiel and they stared at each other, grinning, until José protested.

 

“ _ What?” _

 

“He says we win, even though we had to buy some of the parts, because we used our imaginations to build it and didn’t just steal ours ready-to-use like  _ some  _ people,” Dean whispered, his eyes theatrically darting furtively around the Horseshoe.

 

“Yeah we did!” José agreed smugly. “Cas-tee-yell has his own English, huh?”

 

“Yeah he does,” Dean agreed, beaming at Castiel across his grill, flipping wings one by one only after carefully shoving his tongs into the center of the coals and tapping the ash off on the side of his grill. “And it’s  _ perfect,  _ just like he is. Take these to your Mama’s table, will you?” He handed a double paper plate of wings to José, who set off carrying it at once, the task clearly a sacred duty that must be performed  _ exactly correctly. _

 

“I’m not perfect, Dean,” Castiel protested mildy, watching him rearrange wings in some complicated pattern based on heat and time and general brownness.

 

“Yes, you  _ are, _ and I don’t want to hear any lip out of you about it,” Dean deadpanned, turning away to hide his smirk, and Castiel quirked an eyebrow and crossed his arms.

 

When Dean dared look up Castiel was waiting, his face slightly dangerous, and Dean’s hissed intake of breath and full body shiver curved Castiel’s lip into a smug smile.

 

“That’s what I thought,” Castiel murmured, unfurling from his relaxed slouch against the stairs, reminding Dean of nothing so much as that infomercial tiger as he lithely crossed the distance between them, lifted his lips to Dean’s ear to whisper to him, his breath dancing across Dean’s ear and setting all of his body hair on end.

 

“ _ I look forward to punishing your insolence. _ ”

 

“HEY!”

 

“Your wings are burning.”

 

“ _ SHIT! _ ”

  
  
  


*** 

  
  
  


By the time Sam dangled his set of keys at Dean hopefully and got an affable nod and a deadline, no one in the entire courtyard could eat another bite, and Dean lifted the green cooler to carefully pour off enough ice water to snuff out the last of his charcoal, setting her down to crack open a fresh beer, and taking a long pull with a satisfied sigh. 

 

“Cas, can you grab the cooler?” Dean asked, rounding up his tongs and dishes and heading for the stairs, and Castiel held her against one hip and gallantly opened the door for both of them, since both of Dean’s hands were full.

 

Dean pretended at nonchalance until the two of them were inside the apartment, setting down his beer and his cooking implements while Castiel set the cooler down and shut the door behind himself, then Dean was all over Cas in an instant, shoving him against the door in his need, locking the door with one hand while the other gripped Castiel’s ass cheek so Dean could grind against him, his erection almost painfully sharp against Castiel’s thigh as Castiel made a noise of surprise around Dean’s tongue, already in his mouth, tasting of beer and barbecue and a hint of habaneros.

 

Dean pulled up a little to look Cas in the eyes, his face worried, his voice breathless.

 

“Don’t you want - ?“   
  


“- Yes of course,” Castiel promised, his voice smiling. “You just caught me off guard, and I’d like us both to take some time to wash up if we’re going to - “

 

“ _ Cas,”  _ Dean groaned plaintively, releasing Castiel entirely and stepping back to park his ass on the kitchen table and run his hands through his hair in frustration, “Can we just… not? Can you just  _ take  _ me, right here right now, fast and dirty, like it’s easy, just… I dunno, like period sex, just throw out the towel after?”

 

Dean snickered to himself, reaching for his beer bottle to tip the rest of it back, his lips unconsciously suggestive just by the luscious shape of them as he swallowed, his free hand adjusting his erection in his jeans as he shifted his crossed legs to be less constrictive.

 

Castiel stared at Dean in confusion. 

 

“I beg your pardon? Are you asking me what I think you are?”

 

Dean just stared at him, his forehead furrowed and his fingers toying with the label of the empty beer bottle, before sighing heavily and shrugging.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“But - you’ve been drinking - “

 

“ _ Cas.”  _

 

Castiel fell silent, staring at Dean in dismay, while Dean’s arms crossed unconsciously and his shoulders slumped. Castiel’s chest ached as he watched Dean’s body language shut down, and he relaxed the tension in his shoulders and forehead by force of will, smoothed his face into a gentle smile, waiting. 

 

Dean’s shoulders relaxed a little, and he took a deep breath, blew it out.

 

“Cas, I...  look, I keep trying to give myself to you  - I mean, I know that was  _ Castiel _ last night but it still hur - sucked to get shut down, and… now - ”

 

“ _ Dean  _ -”

 

“-  _ Cas _ . There isn’t gonna be a perfect time or a perfect place and I’m not a wine and candles kinda guy. Y’know, usually.” Dean smirked softly, looking up through his lashes at Cas and Castiel smiled back, not daring to step forward but his hands twitching to reach for Dean. 

 

“This is me.” 

 

Dean waved his hand vaguely up his body, then around the apartment at large. 

 

“I just… I wanna be _yours,_ Cas, and I have _done_ the part where I try to give myself to you, and I feel like we’re stuck on the part where you _take_ me. I’m barely even buzzed, Cas, this shit is like three percent. I’m just... _happy,_ okay? I feel like we keep building this thing up I’m just gonna chicken out. Can we - will you - look I don’t have a hose or whatever but I have lube and I have condoms will you _please_ just fuck me already?”

 

Dean’s voice broke, and he looked down at his hands, which had industriously picked most of the label off his beer bottle. He took a deep, shuddering breath, set the bottle carefully down next to himself on the table.

 

“I’m sorry, Cas,” he muttered. “I can wait until you’re comfortable. We can go someplace nice, I’ll clean up, whatever you want. I don’t mean to be such a bitch about it -”

 

“ _ Dean.” _

 

Dean looked up to meet Castiel’s eyes, his face defeated, but the look on Castiel’s face stayed him. Castiel stepped forward to take Dean’s face in both his hands, their faces level where Dean was slumped, and when he spoke his voice was rough.

 

“Dean. I’ve been trying so hard to do right by you I can see that I erred too far on the side of caution and  _ still  _ managed to hurt you. I am  _ so _ sorry, my Love.”

 

Dean’s eyes widened at hearing the endearment that had been glowing in his chest since Castiel had first said it three nights ago, and his lips parted to gulp in some air. His voice shook as he whispered, “S’okay, Cas.”

 

“No, it _ isn’t _ , and I’ll make it up to you right now, if you’ll have me.” 

 

Castiel’s eyebrow lifted ever so slightly at the flash of interest that crossed Dean’s face, and he continued in a low growl, Dean’s eyes widening as he spoke, “Get me those condoms and lubricant and a towel and  _ get under me _ , Dean.”

 

Dean practically squeaked as he fell over himself to obey, and Castiel nodded to himself in satisfaction as he waited, his body buzzing with a growing tension, under his skin and in his jeans. Castiel watched with hooded eyes as Dean nervously threw back the covers on his child-sized double bed, laid down a towel, set his fistful of condoms and lube packets on the bed beside it. 

 

Dean turned to Castiel then, to see how to proceed, and Castiel flowed into his space, slotting their bodies together, his hands gripping Dean’s jeans-clad ass to pull their hips together while his tongue quested for entry into Dean’s mouth; Dean’s gasp as he felt Cas’s cock jam into his pubic bone nothing compared to his desperate moan when Castiel’s tongue took possession of his mouth.

 

Castiel’s kiss started forceful but ended tender, his hands caressing their way up Dean’s body to lift the hem of his shirt, sliding it up as Dean lifted his arms, breaking the kiss to slip it over his head, dropping it to the floor, forgotten, as his palms came up to cradle Dean’s face and kiss him until Dean was breathless and whimpering, tears in his eyes when Castiel finally pulled away so they could catch a breath. 

 

Castiel’s nimble fingers had Dean’s belt undone and his jeans unzipped before Dean knew what was happening, crowding Dean against the bed in the next breath so he was abruptly forced to sit down. Castiel smirked, dropping to his knees to unlace Dean’s boots to pull each of them off in turn, then his socks, while Dean watched him work, rapt, his breath hissing past his teeth and his pulse attempting to reach escape velocity from his chest. When the boots and socks were gone Castiel smoothly relieved Dean of his jeans and boxers, pausing to watch his cock spring free appreciatively before motioning with his eyebrow for Dean to get situated on the towel.

 

“Music?” Castiel whispered, glancing at the door from where they could hear revelers still going strong, and Dean nodded, mute, so Castiel flipped Dean’s tinny clock radio on, already tuned to KSJO, and fiddled the dial up enough to cover conversation, stripping off his tee shirt as he loomed over Dean, supine and breathless on his towel, eyes wide and cock at  _ full  _ attention.  

 

Castiel stripped rapidly and efficiently, setting his clothes in a careful pile on a kitchen chair before flowing onto the bed over Dean, petting his face, stroking his hair, kissing his mouth and his neck and breathing hot breath across his ear, slotting their bodies together so their dicks were touching, the heat without friction maddening. Dean writhed and moaned and arched, looking for friction but getting only the stickiness of sweaty flesh until he gave up and collapsed, limp on his back, groaning his frustration.

 

Castiel laughed, leaning down to lick the salt from Dean’s nipple, talented fingers tearing at foil wrappers, Dean’s moan of pleasure choking into a yelp of surprise and then a garbled cry of desperate hunger as Cas gave him two slick fingers to his second knuckle without warning, Dean’s entire body going rigid while Castiel waited, motionless, pressing his lips to Dean’s mouth.

 

Dean melted, going pliant and limp under Castiel and kissing and kissing and kissing while Castiel’s fingers slooowly stretched apart and together and apart again, coaxing shudders and moans and breathless little gasps from Dean’s lips until Dean started to bear down, chasing the fingers, trying to get them to hit that magical spot, his cock straining against Cas’s stomach, confusion on his face when Castiel stopped moving, staring down in worship at his face.

 

“May I?” Castiel breathed, watching Dean’s face intently as Dean raised glazed eyes and spit-slick lips to smile breathlessly, answer, “Anything.”

 

Castiel beamed in delight that Dean had remembered, slipped his fingers out of Dean’s ass, Dean whimpering a little at the loss, whimpering in earnest, his eyes flaring impossibly wide, as Castiel’s searing hot cock nudged against his rim. 

 

Castiel’s cock felt  _ enormous _ . Dean hissed and Cas pulled away immediately, his eyes searching Dean’s face. The loss of the heat against him hurt more than the pressure had, and Dean wriggled his hips and pouted, grinning in smug success when Castiel rolled his eyes fondly and brought his cock to bear again. Cas leaned forward to offer Dean his tongue and Dean moaned and arched against him, and the head of Cas’s lube-slick cock breached Dean’s rim, both men breaking the kiss as they froze in surprise.

 

Dean winced, waiting for the stretch to stop pulsing sharp pain with each hammer blow of his heart and for the good feelings to start, the way they had every other time, his hands clutching at Castiel’s back in fear and his breath coming as short, sharp gasps as he stared up at Castiel’s face. Cas, Dean realized, who was having his own moment, his eyes wide in shock, his body completely frozen in panic. 

 

Staring up at Castiel’s reaction Dean’s heart melted into a puddle and his entire body just… relaxed, his fear ebbing entirely into a tightness in his chest and stinging in his eyes as the stretch eased into a delicious fullness, his nerves dancing, whispering of better things to come.

 

“Give me a little more, Sweetheart,” Dean whispered, and Castiel gasped, eyes wide, staring at Dean’s face, pressing forward tentatively maybe an inch, his single arm holding him up trembling even though Dean knew for a fact Cas could do dozens of pushups without breaking a sweat.

 

Dean ran soft fingers up Castiel’s bare back soothingly, petting him softly.

 

“Put your elbows on either side of me, Cas,” Dean instructed, and Castiel obeyed, dazed, his slick guiding hand coming up beside Dean’s face, eyes wild and his face feral.

 

“Give me more, Cas,” Dean whispered, “Slow.”

 

Castiel nodded, his heart pounding faster than fear had  _ ever _ made it go, slowly pressing his hips forward, entirely forgetting to breathe as Dean’s  _ heat - the heat - so tight - oh god - _

 

“ _ Dean - I can’t - I’m not going to last - “ _

 

“It’s okay, Sweetheart.  _ Look at me. _ ”

 

Castiel’s wild-eyed panicked stare met Dean’s eyes and the  _ love  _ on Dean’s face grounded him, pulled him back to himself, his eyes immediately welling as Dean’s next gentle instruction landed.

 

“ _ Kiss me while you come _ .”

 

Dean caught Castiel’s desperate wail in his mouth, straining up to meet Castiel’s kiss as Cas leaned down to follow Dean’s command, his hips pistoning of their own accord, his cries muffled as Dean’s lips caught his tongue and sucked on it, meeting Castiel’s thrusts eagerly and then thrusting  _ for _ him, rocking Cas back and forth above him, as Cas  _ screamed _ and thrashed helplessly, his cries a crescendo of astonishment, his mouth going slack and his body flailing as he collapsed heavily into Dean’s arms, waiting to catch him as he fell back down to earth.

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


Eventually, Castiel lifted his head from Dean’s shoulder to stare down at Dean’s soft smile and smile back, dazed and glowing. 

 

“ _ I love you, Dean _ ,” Castiel whispered, and Dean moaned and arched against him, his erection pressing into Castiel’s stomach hard enough to bruise.

 

Castiel’s face flashed to guilt as they both felt Dean’s body start to reject him, and he whispered, “ _ I’m so sorry _ \- “

 

“ _ Don’t, _ ” Dean smiled, the affection on his face softening any sting Castiel might have felt from the sharpness of his voice. “You did  _ perfect,  _ Sweetheart,” Dean promised gently, Castiel’s eyes welling again, both of them wincing as their bodies slipped apart.

 

“But - you didn’t get to - I didn’t give you an orgasm!“ Castiel wailed, crestfallen, his lip actually trembling as he struggled to get to his knees, but Dean shook his head firmly.

 

“See, this is where that killer sex drive of yours is gonna save the day, Cas. Pull that nasty thing off, drop it on the towel - “ they both made a face as Castiel obeyed “ - good, here are some tissues, don’t look at me right now I am going to go throw this out and steal another towel, and when I get back here you are going to do that  _ again _ , capice?”

 

Dean crab-crawled off the bed holding the towel like a diaper, and Castiel nodded, mute, head down, only looking up as the bathroom door clicked shut and springing out of bed to wash his hands in the kitchen sink. He didn’t dare wash anything else there but he made do with a damp paper towel, tossing it in the trash and crossing back to the bed just as Dean reappeared with another towel, spreading it on the bed and looking up at Castiel apologetically.

 

“It’s still damp, I’m sorry - “

 

“-  _ I don’t care. _ ” Castiel’s voice was a low growl, his eyes half-lidded, and his glance devoured Dean’s flesh from head to toe, sweeping over him as he knelt on the bed adjusting the towel, two steps and suddenly his man was under him, his teeth in the meat of Dean’s shoulder, one hand on Dean’s throat and the other on Dean’s flagging cock.

 

Dean yelped, his body going rigid and arching back into Cas, at least one part of Castiel’s body rigid now too, jamming into the back of Dean’s thigh.

 

“ _ May I? _ ” Castiel growled, his voice hopeful but braced for denial, his intake of breath a gasping hiss of surprised heat when Dean growled back, “ _ Anything.” _

 

Dean heard wrappers tearing, felt Castiel’s weight shifting, and then searing heat was pushing against him, slipping inside him, the stretch  _ delicious  _ without a hint of pain as he moaned and pushed back into it, Castiel’s crackling fire draped over his back and pressing  _ inside his body  _ intoxicating, Castiel’s breath on the back of his neck and on his ear sending chills racing up and down his entire body, Castiel’s hand on his throat sliding up his neck and over the roughness of his jaw to come to rest over his panting mouth instead, to contain his keening wail as Castiel’s scorching hot hand wrapped around Dean’s cock and his long, slow thrust  _ finally _ slammed home, an explosion of pleasure so intense it stole Dean’s reason and he  _ screamed _ into Castiel’s muffling hand, the wild creature of his hindbrain taking the wheel, writhing and bucking and growling and thrashing as Castiel slammed into him again and again, twisting his slick hand over Dean’s cock to confound, his lack of rhythm random and frustrating and masterfully distracting as he ratcheted Dean’s tension up and up and up before letting Dean suck in one, full, desperate breath from under his hand, clamping his palm back down over Dean’s heaving lips, and leaning forward to breathe into Dean’s ear, his cock slamming home and his hand  _ finally  _ doing it  _ right,  _ as Dean howled and his back arched and Castiel growled into his ear, his voice barely recognizable it was so rough, 

 

“ _ Come for me, Dean. NOW. _ ”

 

 

 


	82. Apres Arithmetic

 

_ “Sam pls buy us both new towels & 1 for cas too on ur way back i’m sorry pls don’t say a word” _

 

_ “Congratulations?” _

 

_ “I hate u. Thx” _

 

_ “:P :-)” _

 


	83. The Soft Golden Light of the Gloaming

 

Castiel woke abruptly, startled, to the sound of a murmured conversation just outside the apartment door, the high child’s voice jarring him from sleep. He looked around, dazed, but he was alone, resting on his back on Dean’s bed, his hands interlocked behind his head. He must have dozed off waiting for Dean to come out of the bathroom - 

 

“ _ Is - is Castiel really your novio, like you told that hombre? _ ”

 

Castiel startled; hearing his name was what had woken him, he realized, and he couldn’t help but strain his ears to hear the answer, swinging his legs out of bed to yawn and stretch - 

 

“Si, José.” 

 

Dean’s voice was mild, unguarded, and Castiel slipped across the room as silently as he could to pause guiltily by the door, unable to keep himself from eavesdropping, and feeling like an asshole for his weakness.

 

“Mama says la biblia says a man should be with a woman.”

 

Castiel’s instant unease made no sound, so he heard Dean’s exasperated sigh loud and clear. 

 

“Yes, well, the bible also says god is love, so I don’t think god would make me so I could feel like this about Castiel if he didn’t want me to. Plus, the bible says not to eat pigs and I ate some of your Mama’s carnitas today and they were definitely pork, kiddo.”

 

Dean laughed a little, but there was no joy in it.

 

“Mama says she will pray for you, Dean, to find a nice girl instead of Castiel.”

 

The sudden pain in Castiel’s gut pulled a sharp gasp to his lips but he swallowed it in time, pressing a hand over the burning in his stomach and holding his breath to hear how Dean would answer.

 

Dean’s voice was low when he spoke again, and his words were clipped.

 

“I know your Mama means well, José, and that she cares about me, which is why I am trying  _ very _ hard not to be angry right now. I don’t want a nice girl, José. I want  _ Castiel _ .”

 

“But Mama says you like girls  _ and  _ boys, Dean, so that if you meet the right girl - “

 

“That’s not how it  _ works _ , José. That just means I have to meet the right  _ person,  _ and I already did, and it’s  _ Castiel _ .”

 

“But Mama says he’s too old for you - “

 

“José, ¡Para!” 

 

José fell silent immediately, and Castiel could hear Dean take a deep breath and let it out slowly, his voice patient and soft when he spoke again.

 

“I think I am tired of hearing what your Mama thinks, José. ?Qué piensa  _ José? _ ”

  
Castiel couldn’t seem to stop himself pulling the curtain on the big window aside just the slightest bit so he could see the two of them leaning on the decrepit bannister side by side, backlit by the glow of whatever the whooping revelers were burning below them; José’s posture and stance a perfect mirror image of Dean’s as the boy thought for a minute, then looked up at Dean to answer.

 

“When tu corazón was broken. Was that because of Castiel?”

 

“Si. I tried to kiss him and he didn’t kiss me back, so I thought he didn’t love me back.”

 

“That happened to a boy at school,” José commented gravely. “He was trying to kiss a girl and she kicked him right in the cojones.”

 

Dean snorted. “Well, I’m glad Castiel didn’t do  _ that _ , then. What happened to your classmate?”

 

“The teacher yelled at him for not asking first. He got detention and he found a girl there who would kiss him.”

 

Dean laughed, his head tilting back as the joy bubbled out of him, then he took a swig from the beer bottle in his hand.  

 

“There isn’t anyone else I ever want to kiss but Castiel, José,” Dean said softly, and even through the sudden tears in his eyes Castiel could see José’s head bobbing up and down as he nodded sagely.

 

“If he loves you, then why didn’t he kiss you back?”

 

“I guess his teacher taught him the rule that you have to ask first.”

 

“You didn’t ask first?”

 

“Nope.” Castiel could see Dean shaking his head. “Sometimes it’s hard for me to say how I feel, José, when the feelings feel big and important.”

 

“If you had followed the rule, maybe tu corazón would not have been broken.”

 

“I think you’re right,” Dean chuckled ruefully. He turned from watching the fire to look down at José beside him, the firelight playing over the fondness on his face stealing Castiel’s breath away as he spied. “Too bad I’m not as smart as you, José.”

 

José’s face was completely serious, staring up at Dean.

 

“Every time you looked at him today you looked tan contento, Dean.”

 

“I was. I  _ am _ .  Muy feliz. ”

 

They both turned back to watching the fire, their shoulders mirror images again, completely relaxed in one another’s company. Neither man nor boy spoke for a long time, and Castiel wasn’t sure if any more was coming until José’s small voice finally broke the silence.

 

“I think you should be with him forever, if he makes tu corazón tan contento, Dean.”

 

“Thank you, José. I think so too.”

 

Castiel must have let out a noise because Dean shifted, listening, then he stood and stretched, nodding towards the door. 

 

“I think we might have woken Castiel from his nap, José.”

 

Castiel opened the door, yawning theatrically as he stepped through it, blinking.

 

“Hi Dean! Hola José! What have you two been talking about out here?” 

 

Dean smirked at Castiel’s tone and José looked terribly guilty and Castiel grinned, his face positively wicked, as he continued, “I had to take a nap, because I am sooo ooold.” 

 

Dean spit himself a little, shaking his head as he stepped forward into Castiel’s space, reaching to squeeze his hand.  Dean’s next words addressed José, even though his face was entirely occupied gazing raptly at Castiel’s soft smile.

 

“What do you think, José, is it Castiel’s fault for being born too early, or is it my fault for being born too late?”

 

José studied the two of them very seriously for a moment while they mooned at one another and answered finally, quite matter-of-factly, “You are  _ both  _ very old, so I don’t think it matters, but - “ he looked to Castiel, who nodded at him, before adding, “- but Castiel is  _ mucho _ mejor at basketball.”

 

Dean clutched at his chest, groaning at the mortal wounds inflicted while José giggled. José’s giggles increased as Castiel reached into his wallet and pulled out a crisp five dollar bill, handing it to the child ceremoniously with a wink and a nod and José backpedaled nimbly as Dean’s eyebrows rose in astonishment and he flailed to snatch the bill from José’s escaping fingers as he scampered out of reach.

 

“You two are in  _ trouble,”  _ Dean choked out around incredulous laughter as José’s peals of giggles receded, his footsteps disappearing down the stairs to safety with his prize.

 

Castiel stepped into Dean’s space this time, to wrap his arms around him from behind and lean his chin over Dean’s shoulder, gazing down at the flames below them. It had been a couch, Castiel realized, studying the flaming shape. A couch, held up on what looked like the inside of a car hood, propped up on cinder blocks to protect the asphalt below.  Castiel snorted and Dean chuckled in his ear.

 

“That couch had fleas, and it costs like twenty bucks to throw one out now,” Dean murmured softly. “Manuel finds all sorts of treasures in the crack houses he’s been buying up.”

 

“Isn’t it illegal to have a bonfire inside the city limits?”

 

Dean snorted, shaking his head. “Alejandro has a thing for firemen, Cas,  _ especially _ the straight ones he says just don’t know they’re ‘un poco gay’ yet.“ 

 

Dean laughed, lifting his beer bottle to his lips to drain it and balancing the empty precariously on the bannister, while Castiel struggled to wrap his brain around Alejandro’s scandalous proclivities. 

 

“I think Alex could set the entire block on fire and the nearest half-dozen fire departments would just send a couple rookies by in their  _ very shiniest  _ biiiggg reddd firetrucks, to see if he needed anything. The rest of them would be laying down bets at their stations.” 

Castiel snorted, squeezing Dean a little tighter, his breath catching on the lump still in his throat.

 

“Heard all that, I take it?”  

 

Dean’s voice was more fond than accusatory, his hands coming up to cradle Castiel’s wrists where they were crossed over his chest, but Castiel winced guiltily anyway.

 

“Yes. Hearing my name woke me and then I couldn’t seem to stop myself eavesdropping, I‘m sorry. I really did try.”

 

“How’d I do?” 

 

Dean’s voice was soft, his body rocking back and forth a little in Castiel’s arms to the music floating up from someone’s boombox below them, glowing embers gently floating up past the bannister, dancing on hot air drafts like fireflies, and Castiel released him so he could catch first Dean’s eye, then the back of his neck in both hands to pull Dean down into a kiss, the lump in his throat making him almost sob as he gave Dean his answer.

 

Someone from below whistled a low dog whistle and someone else that sounded suspiciously like Alejandro yelled, “Get a room, gringos!” the voice laughing good-naturedly, and Castiel guiltily shrank away from the kiss, startled to see Dean’s hand raised in the universal one-finger salute, to feel Dean’s other hand on the back of his neck to vice grip him right back into Dean’s embrace until he was done with the kiss, thank you very much, the laughter and cheers floating up from below loosening the knot in Castiel’s stomach into a completely unfamiliar, soft, warm glow instead.

 

 


	84. Home is In Your Arms

 

Castiel stroked soft fingers through Dean’s hair, smiling affectionately at the gentle snores whispering past Dean’s lips as he slept, his head cradled in Castiel’s lap, his body splayed the length of the apartment’s mustard brown couch, under the starburst clock that Castiel glanced at again in concern, craning his neck to see it over his shoulder. It was pushing midnight and he’d thought they were going to head back to his place earlier, but Dean had fallen asleep as they curled up together watching an Alton Brown marathon, and Castiel didn’t want to wake him to reach for his phone. _ Where are you, Sam?  _

 

After Dean was good and done kissing him on the balcony, they’d let themselves be pressured into coming down to the fire, leaning on cars and sharing beers and embellishing their ‘No mierda, there I was,’ stories in turn, most of the men politely trying to use enough English that their guest could catch at least half their stories, Dean snickering at the good parts and then filling Cas in when it went by too fast for him to catch. 

 

Immensely charmed at being included, Castiel had let Alejandro cajole him into telling the tale of how badly their Gringo Muy Guapo had screwed his entire team when they first started working together, with his silver tongue and that deadly smile, and Dean grinned sheepishly as everyone present cackled and snorted and incidentally absorbed new insight into the magnitude of the misery Castiel had endured before quite literally saving their intrepid pair of warily adopted, grudgingly cherished gringos.

 

When Castiel’s story was over and the next had begun and Matias leaned over to murmur in a hushed tone, “Usted tiene suerte de haber conocido a su ángel guardián,” Dean had nodded seriously, whisperering, “ _ Si _ ,” and taking a pull from his beer to give himself a moment, and Castiel, whose every opportunity over the last year had been spent studying not Spanish, but  _ Dean,  _ quietly watching Dean’s face in the flicker of the flames, had turned his own face to the flames without asking for a translation this time.

 

Good Eats’ end credits rolled and an infomercial for Tony Little’s ridiculous-looking exercise contraption started, the perky, smiling model, decked out in a ponytail and neon sports bra and biking shorts, pretending to looove it. Castiel rolled his eyes and was just wondering if he could sneak out from under Dean to get to his phone without waking him when he heard the Impala growl into the Horseshoe, and he relaxed back into the couch to wait until Sam burst through the door, his face guilty and apologies already on his lips.

 

Dean startled awake at the commotion, lifting his head blearily to glance at the clock above him and back to Sam in surprise.

 

“Where have you _ been,  _ Sam? Cas and I were s’posed to have the car at nine!”

 

Sam’s face, already terribly guilty, registered further chagrin as he searched for words.

 

_ Pounding music, a red solo cup of weak beer pressed into his hand, Sarah laughing and taking it from him, draining half of it before giving it back, dragging him by the hand through the throng to her room, pointing for him to sit on the bed that wasn’t covered in laundry and stuffed animals and piles of paperwork two feet deep, bent over in her short dress sorting through the papers and picking up some of them that only she could tell were different from any of the others as he finished the beer and set the cup down, staring at her, blushing as she turned around and saw him staring and her eyes went soft and she set the papers down and crossed the room to lean towards him, her eyes sparkling -  _

 

“Sarah forgot some of her notes and we had to go back to their room and there was a party in the dorm…”

 

_ Soft lips on his mouth, gentle hands stroking up his arms and across his shoulders, a tongue gently questing into his mouth as he gasped in pleasure, answering hesitantly with a little tongue of his own, the heat of it racing through his veins and he hunched forward, embarrassed, to hide his arousal as she climbed into his lap to wrap delicate arms around his neck and kiss harder, the heat of her in his lap pressing against him intoxicating, his arousal impossible to conceal as she pressed up against him even harder, her body in her thin cotton dress finding what she was looking for, her heat grinding against his - _

 

Sam hesitated, flushing hotly.

 

“Uh, Sarah kissed me…”

 

“That’s awesome, Sammy, congratulations! ‘Bout time,” Dean enthused, sitting all the way up to stretch and yawn.

 

Sam didn’t look like he wanted congratulations, his forehead furrowed, and Castiel - who was awake and paying full attention - elbowed Dean gently and commented gravely, “Go on, Sam, we’re listening.”

 

_ Groaning into her mouth, his pleasure fierce and hot as she sucked on his tongue and grabbed him by the sides of his face to brace herself, her body writhing in his lap, his embarrassment ebbing into just… heat and pulses of pleasure since she clearly wanted him hard, she was moaning and rocking over him through his jeans and the door opened and Jess stepped inside, his embarrassment palpable, Sarah breaking the kiss to look up at Jess’s soft smile but not even pausing her grinding and Jess wasn’t surprised or upset or anything, she just shut the door and shimmied out of her tank top - so beautiful - her skin pale and her breasts full and swaying gently as she came towards him, mesmerizing, to offer a nipple to Sarah’s hungry mouth, moaning and watching his reaction as his mouth fell open, Sarah’s hair long and black and shocking splayed across Jess’s white skin as Jess leaned forward, watching him, stroking his arm, shuddering as Sarah’s white teeth delicately nibbled erect nipple flesh, red lips breathing hot air over wet flesh and Sarah’s eyes lifting to his, half-lidded, to whisper, “Sam, please kiss Jess for me, I’m busy,” her lips returning to suckling, Jess’s eyes soft and leaning towards him hopefully, her breast grazing his arm and setting all his arm hair upright as he swallowed nervously and lifted his lips for her to kiss -  _

 

Sam shook his head, running a hand through his hair distractedly and folding himself into a kitchen chair.

 

“Jessica kissed me too.”

 

Dean’s eyes widened in surprise but Castiel didn’t even twitch, his face remaining mild, a soft smile playing around his lips.

 

“Do they know they both kissed you?” Dean asked, his forehead crinkling in concern.

 

_ Sarah grinding against him through his jeans, hard and fast, he could hear her whimpering as Jess kissed him, soft and sweet, her tongue letting him take the lead, his forehead beading sweat as Sarah’s insanely hot little cries sped up and then Jess wasn’t kissing him anymore she was kissing Sarah to muffle her sounds as she whimpered and stuttered to a stop in his lap, Jess’s delicate hand snaking under his shirt to scrape fingernails across his chest which he didn’t know could feel that good, gasping as he watched black hair and blonde hair tangle, two gorgeous girls in his lap, Sarah climbing off him as Jess took her place, Sarah whispering to Jess but Sam *heard* her, “Feel how big he is?” and Jess smiling in pleased surprise as she let her weight sink down on him, his bashful flush burning bright and hot as Jess’s tongue invaded his mouth, not soft or sweet now, just… hot and needy, panting, grinding, swallowing his moans as Sarah’s lips and tongue and fingers lifted his shirt and sucked his nipple just like she’d done to Jess - cascading sparks of pleasure he felt echoed down low as she nibbled and he lost all track of time and then Jess wasn’t kissing or riding him anymore, climbing off his lap, he was so horny it hurt and his jeans felt wet as cold air hit them and two gorgeous faces were looking up at him, slowly unzipping him, watching him for any hint of resistance but he desperately didn’t want them to stop, holding his breath with anticipation, swallowing nervously as they paused, watching him, and he nodded and they smiled at him and then each other and unzipped him all the way, two searing hot tongues, his fist in his mouth entirely failing to muffle his surprised moan, shared glances, Sarah crawling up his lap to kiss his mouth and swallow his sounds while Jessica’s mouth -  _

 

Sam crossed his legs self-consciously, nodded.

 

_ “ _ They know. They, uh - it was at the same time.”

 

“ _ Niiice - “  _ Dean stopped at Sam’s expression, his forehead crinkling to match Sam’s. “What’s the matter Sammy?”

 

“I - I thought I was maybe kind of dating Sarah, I guess. Now I don’t know what’s going on. I like them  _ both _ so much and now - I mean, I guess I have to pick one and the other one is going to hate me?” Sam sighed heavily, running both hands through his hair, and looking up at Dean plaintively. He glanced at Cas and the soft smile on Castiel’s face drew his attention, pulled an answering smile to his lips.

 

“What, Cas?”

 

“Your girlfriends are already lovers, Sam. I think you find yourself in what I understand is the enviable position of being invited to be, as the French say, ‘added to the household.’”  

 

Castiel smiled at Sam’s blank stare.

 

“A polyamorous relationship, Sam; a ménage à trois. You seem to have received an invitation to enter into one, with two beautiful girls you seem very fond of.” 

 

Castiel shrugged as both Sam and Dean stared at him blankly. 

 

“Not everyone suffers from jealousy the way Dean and I have agreed that we both do, Sam; I’ve certainly witnessed any number of - by all appearances - perfectly happy open or polyamorous relationships and it seemed quite obvious at your birthday party that your friends were in a romantic relationship,  _ what _ ?”

 

Castiel tried not to bristle at the double barreled Winchester stares he was currently at the receiving end of and both men pulled up, trying not to look so surprised.

 

“Surely you’ve both heard of - “

 

“ _ Yes,  _ we’ve heard of it,“ Dean interjected, Sam nodding in agreement, “Just - “ He shrugged and looked to Sam, whose eyes were still wide in surprise.

 

“I thought those were, like, one-time things,” Sam finally breathed, running a hand through his hair, his forehead a study in perplexity.

 

“Of course not, why would you think that? If the relationship works, why wouldn’t it continue for as long as all the participants would like it to?”  

 

It was Castiel’s turn to be completely puzzled, looking from Sam to Dean and back again. 

 

“I’m sorry, is this unusual? I only know what I saw in my own experience, and to be honest  - “ Castiel looked a little sheepish now, shrugging in discomfort. “I guess I don’t know very much about heterosexual dating. Only what I’ve seen in the movies.” 

 

Dean leaned into Castiel’s side to murmur, “I’ve seen some of those movies, Cas - “ and Castiel shook his head, rolling his eyes fondly.

 

“ - Not  _ those _ movies, you pervert - “

 

“ - Hey! Pot, kettle, Mister _ \- “ _

 

_ “Guys!”   _ Sam’s voice was urgent, his face tortured.  “What do I  _ do?” _

 

Dean looked to Castiel, their apparent resident expert, and Castiel watched Sam’s face, his expression earnest.

 

“Did you enjoy the time you spent with Sarah and Jessica tonight?”

 

Sam’s face instantly flushed as he looked down at his hands, twisting in his lap.

 

“ _ Yeah _ ,” he whispered. “A lot.”

 

Dean somehow managed to keep a straight face and look supportive as Sam raised his eyes, waiting for Castiel to continue.

 

“Were you jealous when Sarah and Jessica touched each other?” Castiel’s face was mild, his tone matter of fact, and Sam’s flush doubled down as Dean’s eyebrows lifted when he made no protest at Castiel’s guess, just shook his head slowly, no, he hadn’t been jealous.

 

“Did you enjoy watching them together?” Castiel was smiling softly, and Sam grinned at him sheepishly, nodding yes and pointedly not looking at Dean  _ at all. _

 

“Think of them alone in their room now, most likely continuing where the three of you left off without you. Does that make you burn with envy, or does the thought of them together without you instead bring you pleasure?”

 

Castiel was grinning for real now, his smirk pulling an answering smirk through the shocked embarrassment on Sam’s face. 

 

“I don’t mean to pry, Sam but it’s important; when I asked that question, in that first moment of surprise, did you feel jealousy or arousal?”

 

Sam’s sheepish grin answered for him, and Castiel laughed, his head thrown back and his mirth pure and lilting.

 

“Sam, I believe you may be gifted with the exact temperament required to have a  _ very  _ nice time entertaining two girlfriends for as long as the three of you enjoy the arrangement.” 

 

Castiel beamed at Sam as Sam’s worried face broke into a huge smile instead. 

 

Castiel’s glance slid sideways, and his smile evaporated. “Try not to look so jealous of your brother’s circumstances, Dean, I am very nearly hurt,” he snapped, his voice sounding far more angry than hurt, despite his choice of words.

 

Dean winced guiltily, and Sam smirked as Castiel turned his full attention to Dean, his eyebrow raised and his face…  _ dangerous. _

 

“I’m afraid it’s too late, Dean; if you wish to renegotiate the terms of  _ our _ arrangement, you should not have let me have a taste of possessing you.” 

 

Castiel’s voice was cold, his face quietly furious, and both Winchester’s eyes widened, gaping in tandem as Castiel continued.

 

“ _ Cas - “ _

 

Castiel spit out his own name like an epithet, Dean’s stomach twisting at the derision in his tone. 

 

“ _ Cas _ \- will certainly grovel at your feet for whatever crumbs of leftover passion you might spare him, until at last you tire of him, until he is a burnt up husk of despair and grief and self-loathing lacking even the courage to end his own misery, but  _ my  _ name will be forbidden from your perfidious lips and  _ I  _ will never touch you again.” 

 

Castiel suddenly registered the twin horrified stares directed his way and the fury on his face disappeared as his expression slammed shut, a blank wall of indifference that somehow felt even worse to Dean.  

 

“Please excuse me. I need some air.”

 

Castiel was across the room and out the door in a fraction of a second, Sam and Dean turning to gape at each other, wide-eyed, for a moment. Dean recovered first, sort of, blowing out a breath and slumping into himself.

 

“What the hell was  _ that?”  _ Sam whispered in awe, and Dean shook his head grimly.

 

“Um, that was  _ Castiel.  _ The one I, uh, met a week ago Thursday. The night you had to drive me home.”

 

Sam’s eyes flared in surprise. “ _ Holy Shit,  _ no  _ wonder _ you were nervous on Wednesday -”

 

“Yeah.” Dean shook his head, staring at the door Castiel had not quite slammed behind him.

 

“So, he, uh, apparently has strong feelings about, uh, not sharing me. What’s ‘perfidious’ mean?’”

 

“Yeah,  _ no shit _ . Like, faithless? Or lying, I think? Go  _ out  _ there, Dean.”

 

Dean gulped and nodded, visibly working up the courage to stand up, squaring his shoulders, sucking in a deep breath, and slowly making his way to the door of the apartment, reaching for the doorknob like it might burn him.

 

Castiel was leaning on the bannister, surveying the empty Horseshoe below him. He didn’t react in any perceptible way to hearing the door opening or to Dean nervously stepping up to lean on the bannister beside him, staring down at the smouldering ashes of the leftover fire.

 

A silence stretched between them; Dean’s face starting at contrite, but moving slowly towards a scowl the longer he thought about it. Eventually he felt Castiel turn to look at him, and he smoothed his face to meet Castiel’s gaze, his eyes resentful.

 

It was Castiel who finally broke the silence.

 

“I was out of line, Dean, and I apologize.”

 

Dean nodded slowly, the slight scowl from before playing around his lips and his forehead now.

 

“Who am I talking to right now?”

 

Castiel shrugged guiltily. “All of us, I think.”

 

“Good. I’m not a liar or a cheater,  _ Castiel _ .”

 

Castiel winced, his face downcast in shame. 

 

“I apologize, Dean. I hadn’t realized the scope of my capacity for jealousy and - and - possessiveness and I - I briefly pictured you with Sam’s girlfriends and - “  

 

Dean smirked slightly, understanding dawning as he nodded gently.  

 

“Okay, I can see that. I can’t - I don’t even know what would happen if I saw you with anyone else, Cas.” 

 

_ Alex’s eyes, raking over Castiel’s chest, slipping down his obliques and dipping below the line of his shorts appreciatively, Castiel’s eyebrow raised, amused and... knowing...” _

 

Dean sucked in a deep breath, his nostrils flaring white, and he shook his head, his scowl replaced with determination.

 

“Yeah, okay I get it. But - thinking a threesome sounds hot is not a crime. Thinking about it isn’t cheating, and thinking about it doesn’t mean I’m ever _going_ to cheat, Cas. That’s not fair.”

 

“I know it isn’t,” Castiel nodded seriously, his face wretched. “I’m truly sorry. I don’t - I can’t divorce devotion from sexual desire the way everyone else on the planet apparently does at will, Dean, so I suppose I projected my experience onto your reaction, and seeing feelings - that - that - I - I thought - that you  _ said -  _ were  _ for me  _ on your face _ - _ felt like - like a betrayal.”

 

Castiel’s eyes fluttered shut, blinking away tears, and he shuddered as Dean closed the distance between them, strong arms sweeping around him from behind and Dean’s lips brushing against his cheek to whisper into his ear.

 

“ _ Oh, Sweetheart _ , _ I’m so sorry _ . I  _ promise _ I only feel this way about you _ ,  _ Cas.”  His arms tightened as he added softly, “It’s like - it’s just like watching porn for me, Cas. The visual is hot. It doesn’t mean I want to - or that I’m ever gonna - do anything about it, okay?”

 

Castiel’s hands clutched at Dean’s hands over his chest. His breath hitched as he sucked in a huge lungful of air and his voice quavered as he whispered, “ _ I’m sorry. _ ”

 

Dean pressed a kiss to the side of Castiel’s neck, his lips traveling to nibble on Castiel’s earlobe.

 

“Is it wrong that I think your being jealous is all kinds of hot?”

 

Castiel snorted dejectedly. 

 

“How the hell would  _ I _ know? You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted, Dean; I have no frame of reference for what  _ normal _ people find hot.”

 

Castiel’s voice held the same note of bitter self-deprecation he’d used to say his own name earlier, and Dean lifted his mouth from the shell of Castiel’s ear to spin himself around Castiel’s body until he could look him in the eyes.

 

“Cas, that’s  _ not _ okay.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

The way you talked about yourself earlier. The way you’re talking about yourself right now. Cas isn’t weak or broken. That shit you said about Cas felt like you were stabbing me in the fucking chest - Cas isn’t weak for having feelings - _fuck_ , I almost died from a broken heart, _over you_. Does Castiel think I’m a piece of shit too? And that shit Castiel said about breaking up with me -“

 

Dean’s face betrayed a microexpression of haunted anguish before he could catch himself, steeling his expression to a far milder dismay, and Castiel’s face fell further, watching him.

 

“I - just…  _ Castiel _ doesn’t get to treat either of us like shit for no reason, okay? We don’t deserve that.”

 

Castiel nodded gravely.

 

“I apologize, Dean. I don’t fault Cas for having feelings, I fault him for his determination to lay down and die at your feet, regardless of whether you should reach down your hand to stroke him or your boot to kick him in the teeth - “ Castiel fell abruptly silent at Dean’s raised eyebrows, his eyes widening as he parsed the bitterness in his own words.

 

“Mmm Hmm,” Dean answered calmly. “And how do you feel about  _ Dean _ , who feels  _ exactly the same way  _ Cas does, about you?” 

 

“I love him,” Castiel answered immediately, “completely and without reservation.”

 

“Even though he’s just as big a pussy for Cas?” Dean’s eyes sparkled and he grinned as he watched Castiel struggle with himself. “A big, giant, pussy, Cas? We know how much you love those…”

 

Castiel spit himself laughing despite his best efforts, raising a sleeve to wipe his mouth and mock glare at Dean.

 

“I think  _ Castiel _ may have some issues around vulnerability, Dean,” he admitted quietly.

 

“You think? Listen, if you can love me even though I’m a giant pussy for you, I think you can cut Cas a little slack for feeling the exact same way, okay? But someone real smart told me that we can’t earn love, that it’s a gift we can give each other, and that really hit me where it counts, Cas.  I promise to, uh, to lo - “ 

 

No more words came, Dean’s mouth refusing to finish the sentence, and Dean shook his head in frustration and came at it from the other direction.

 

“I promise to, uh - I promise not to treat you like shit until you waste away at my feet or whatever, and I hope you’ll promise me the same. Deal?”

 

“Deal.” 

 

Castiel’s smile was absolutely radiant, and Dean leaned forward to catch it with his lips, stroking  the thick stubble along Castiel’s jaw with soft fingers until Castiel sighed and pulled away to look at Dean plaintively.

 

“I’m exhausted, Dean. Do we have to drive all the way out to my place? I could rent us a motel room nearby…?“

 

Dean blinked slowly, his thumb stroking along Castiel’s bottom lip now, distracted by the way the shadows carved Castiel’s jaw into perfection.

 

“You don’t want to go home?”

 

Castiel’s gaze was steady, his voice barely above a whisper when he answered.

 

“Wherever you are is home, Dean.”

 

The soft small noise Dean made in his throat sounded almost like a sob, and Castiel caught it with gentle lips, wrapping his arms around Dean to squeeze him tightly and rub his back as he buried his face in Castiel’s shoulder and clung to him.

 

Eventually, Dean composed himself enough to lift his head from Castiel’s shoulder and look him in the eye.

 

“Why don’t you just sleep over? I’ll take the couch, or we can both cram into my bed if you can control yourself for a hot minute.” 

 

Dean’s smile was soft and fond, the circle of his arms low and loose around Castiel’s hips now, and for once Castiel didn’t take offence at being called insatiable.

 

“I _can,_ ” he promised. “I mean, I can’t control getting an erection, but I can promise not to fuck you with it.”

 

Dean laughed out loud, his head thrown back with joy as Castiel beamed, pleased to have made Dean laugh.

 

“Alright, well, see that you don’t,” Dean chuckled, tugging Castiel by the hand to head back inside.

  
  


***

  
  


Sam was in the shower.

 

“We deserve that,” Dean sighed, grinning. “God knows I’ve been hogging the bathroom lately. Uh, baking soda and paper towels? He’ll be in there a while, Cas.”

 

Castiel accepted a paper towel graciously and they stood over the kitchen sink together to rinse their faces and brush their teeth, camping style. Castiel accepted fresh boxers from Dean for a change, and Dean turned out all but the side lamp by Sam’s bed, insisting, tonight, on being the little spoon.

 

Castiel wrapped the sheet over their bodies and his arms around Dean, sighing and nestling his nose into Dean’s hair. He pressed soft kisses to the back of Dean’s head and when Dean squirmed and tried to turn his head for real kisses Castiel held him fast, his arms strong as iron, and kissed the nape of his neck and nibbled his earlobe instead. When Castiel’s body inevitably responded to Dean’s writhing with an erection, as promised, despite each and every one of Dean’s playfully fake disappointed noises and his very real answering arousal; despite his whispered pleading that Sam would be in the shower for  _ ages _ , couldn’t they just be  _ quick, _ Castiel laughed for sheer joy and held his boyfriend very tight and kissed the back of his neck and absolutely, positively,  _ refused _ to fuck him, no, not even a little bit.

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


TO BE CONTINUED...

  
  


 


	85. Acknowledgements & Credits

 

Thank you to each and every one of my readers, but most especially those of you who read me live while this was in serial publication and commented faithfully every week. You know who you are. You gave me life and I counted on you more than you can possibly know. Thank you for taking this journey with me and know that while I welcome and love every reader, even the anonymous ones who never say a word, those of you who fed my soul with your reactions and screams and emojis and analysis and kudos (which Renee head canoned into hugs for me, kudos are thank-you hugs) hold such a special place in my heart, I will never forget this experience we shared so long as I live.

 

Many hands helped make this better than it would have been with just the two of mine and I am grateful to each and every person who stepped up. In no particular order, here are the folks who agreed to let me credit them, and a few who most certainly did not. :-D

 

The spark of this story came to me on my mountain, listening to the song “Coming Home” by Storyman. Now I can’t be certain anyone unconsulted would enjoy being thanked for inspiring such an explicit work, so I’d ask us to keep this detail to ourselves, but please do listen to that song, and feel the chills I felt as the idea blossomed. :-D <3  

 

My Darling Renee, thank you for the gift of your humanity. Your willingness to tell me how each struggling paragraph made you FEEL, and to bleed as hard as I did every time, made this the work of not one, but two beating hearts.

 

My beloved Jim did not give me permission to credit him, but he did encourage me and support me and suffer through endless live readings and for that I both thank him profusely AND allow him to continue to live. :-D

 

Thank you to my Gramma Beta @Valeska for knowing and/or learning so much grammar to help my struggling Computer Science major ass along. :-D  (Okay that’s a bit of a misdirect I am perfectly great at English, just not at GRAMMAR AND QUOTES AND DIALOGUE FORMATTING.)

 

A huge thanks to all my Tweeties for putting up with me vague tweeting this process for most of 2018. <3

 

Thank you for the encouragement of my early readers, especially Alesha and Sarah, who gave me such valuable feedback when I hadn’t sorted out nearly enough details yet. Also my horrid little sister, who listened to a lot of my plot on a walk in early summer 2018 I think? - my nephew was in a stroller GAWD the years run together - and pointed out a few flaws that I was able to rework.

 

Thank you to @LizBurk90339960 For providing radio station help for the 2000s and other San Francisco native details, as well as for her invaluable insight and encouraging comments from day one of publishing.

 

Thank you to @Patri6, @lisajet47 and @AlisMusings for helping with my Spanish, without levying any blame on any of them I made my own bad choices. :-)

 

Thank you to my dear friend Frank for taking me to his company Christmas party years ago, which Dean and Castiel have now also attended, and for forbidding every part of this process; it was so much more delicious than it would have been with your blessing.

 

Bourbon brand information courtesy of @Samantha12Jane.

 

Thank you to Adam H for help with wording a corporate email.

 

Thank you to  @withawhynot for vetting my bar scene in SF circa 2002.

 

Thank YOU, reading this right now, who can’t believe it’s over and need to cling to every last word. It’s NOT over. So much more needs to be resolved, so many dangling threads my Darlings, what about Gabriel and when will Cas meet Bobby and what’s going on with that thing Anna is looking into and what else is in that MOTEL?

 

Stay tuned, future Bat Time, Same Bat Channel.

 

I will be vaguetweeting book two on main, @squeevening. You are surely welcome to pop by and whine at me there at any time. :-D

 

THANK YOU FOR THIS EXPERIENCE IT HAS BEEN ABSOLUTELY MAGICAL.

 


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